


Nature Gave the Cornfields, but c'mon…Fucking Brooklyn Man

by itsmylifekay, WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Series: I'll love you in the cornfields, I'll love you in the hay; I'll love you back in Brooklyn where my heart still loves to stay [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, lots of sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years have passed and Bucky's mostly settled into his life in Pikesville with Steve, but there will always be a special place in his heart for Brooklyn. So, of course, when he finally manages to get Steve on a plane to New York he can't wait to make him fall in love with the city as well. Steve…Steve just hopes to get out of the ordeal with his life intact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Fuckin' Brooklyn Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! We both just want to thank you so much for your support on the last part of this series and we hope you like this one just as much!

 

** Prologue: **

 

If you were to ask Bucky Barnes what the best city on the face of this planet is, know what he’d say?

Hey Bucky, where’s the best place to live in the entire world?

Fuckin’ Brooklyn, man.

Oh really? Because I heard it’s--

NO it’s fuckin’ Brooklyn, know why? Because Brooklyn has it all. Everything.

Why you would ever need to go anywhere else on this whole shitty planet is completely mind boggling to Bucky, to the point where he can’t even talk to you if you think something differently. (Of course, if you happen to be a certain 95-pound blond with fiery spunk and the cutest ass around...he’ll make an exception.)

But yeah. Fuckin’ Brooklyn, man. No better city out there than this. Where else can you waste all your hard-earned money on some rides and shitty carnival food at Coney Island, then drive your ass over the Brooklyn Bridge, and then go drink your life away at some of the best goddamn bars God has to offer? You know where? Because Bucky knows where.

Fuckin’.

Brooklyn.

Man.

Jesus Christ, it’s the best. Just don’t even talk to Bucky about Brooklyn if you don’t have hours of your day to spare because he will praise the shit out of it until you’re both ready to drink more, pass out, or both.

Bucky prefers both. But that’s not the point.

The point is it’s been five long years since he’s been back - breathed the city air - walked the shitty streets. It’s been five long years and it’s finally happening.

Make room, Brooklyn, daddy’s comin’ home.

\---+---

Steve hates Brooklyn.

And, okay, maybe hate is too strong a word, but Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he really, really strongly dislikes Brooklyn. A lot.

Has he been there before? No. But that’s beside the point. Because the point _is_ … Steve does not like Brooklyn.

And not just because it’s not Pikesville, but because the roads are too busy and the buildings too tall and the ground too cement-covered. The people are too unfriendly and the sky too muddled and the atmosphere too noisy. He’s seen pictures and heard stories and he knows it’s nowhere he’d choose to go on his own volition.

Hell, he can count on his hands the number of times he’s been outside of Pikesville’s one hundred mile radius. And he certainly never expected one of those times to be for a city like Brooklyn.

Because Steve likes peaceful. He likes quiet.

And Brooklyn is none of those things. In fact, it’s kind of the exact opposite.

And sure, maybe there’s more places to buy a latte or cappuccino or weirdly shaped pastry, you can just hop down to the nearest theater or ice rink or stadium, but you also have to worry about getting run over trying to go to those places, and deal with the constant burn of car horns and traffic and _people_ in your ears.

Brooklyn is a world centered around _things_ and it makes Steve cringe. Because the world is about the World. That larger than life concept that no one really seems to grasp. And years down the road? All of the people and things buzzing around Brooklyn will be gone, dead or changed or unreachable and the World will still be the World. The same way it’s been since...well since God put it there.

So he’s not exactly thrilled, to say the least, to be boarding a plane for the first time in his life and heading towards one of the biggest epicenters of _people_ and _things_ in the modern age. (He’s got life and death and love and family right in Pikesville and that’s really all a person ever needs.)But he’s doing it anyway. For Bucky and Bucky’s mom and because he’s a goddamn good boyfriend.

But just because he’s going doesn’t mean he has to like it.

In fact, he’s pretty damn sure he’s not going to like it at all.

He heaves a sigh and sinks further down in his seat… _Fucking Brooklyn man._

 

\---+---


	2. You'll Never Find the Body

 

** Chapter One: **

 

“Buck, I’m telling you right now if this is some big production I’m going to murder you in your sleep. Slowly.” Steve has a tight grip on Bucky’s shirt and is pulling him down so he can properly see the hellfire in Steve’s eyes. “Actually, I’ll wake you up so that you can get the full experience. That’s how serious I am right now. Waking-you-up-before-murdering-you serious. Are we clear?”

But Bucky’s just grinning at him, the smug shithead he is, and his voice is entirely too calm for the situation. “Relax, Stevie. Everything’ll be fine. You’re acting like you’re gonna get jumped or something. It’s my _mom_.”

Steve stares at Bucky for a long time, trying to decide whether or not he’s telling the truth. (One of the few drawbacks of the extended time they’ve spent together is that Bucky has gotten increasingly better at hiding his lies from Steve’s scrutinization-- a skill that Steve just knows will come back to bite him some day. He’s just hoping today is not that day.)

Because if they walk through that door and it’s _not_ just Bucky’s mom standing there...well, let’s just say Steve isn’t going to be responsible for his actions and Bucky’s body would never, ever be found.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Fine. But if this isn’t just your mom, I swear Buck, I’m gonna--”

“ _Steve_. You gotta relax, pal.” But he’s still got that grin on his face that Steve has come to know spells trouble. “Don’t make me carry you in there myself.” He demonstrates his intent by tugging on both of Steve’s suspenders.

Steve slaps his hands away. “I’m not happy with you right now, Barnes. I don’t like that look on your face.”

And Bucky must be listening closer than Steve originally believes, because then his head is tilting towards him a little, eyes growing wide as his bottom lip juts out in the most ridiculous puppy-dog pout that Steve has ever laid his eyes upon. “Stevie.”

“Damn it, Buck. Fine.” Steve relents, always a sucker for that face (no grown man should be allowed to be that adorable anyway). “Open the door and let’s see whether or not you get to live to see tomorrow.”

Bucky pounces at the chance, eyes flashing with good natured excitement but pout vanishing suspiciously quickly as he grabs the handle and swings the door open.

And all Steve can see on the other side is a wall of people (the whole entire Barnes clan must be somehow crammed into the small apartment) and he stumbles back a bit into Bucky’s chest. Then there’s a hand on his upper arm and he’s being propelled through the entrance before he truly knows what’s happening, barely aware enough to plaster a smile on his face as Bucky’s mom rushes up to greet them.

Bucky immediately sinks into her hug, face brightening as he smiles against her shoulder. “Hi, mama.”

And Steve is wide-eyed, staring back at all the people staring at him and he wonders vaguely if this isn’t how an aquarium fish feels. He keeps a death grip on the hem of Bucky’s shirt and focuses on not hyperventilating right there on the floor.

He’s going to _kill_ Bucky tonight.

As soon as they’re alone, as soon as he can get his hands around that neck…

But for now Steve needs him to survive, so he’s safe from being chucked out the open window on the far side of the room.

Mrs. Barnes moves onto Steve next, cooing over him as if he’s one of her own children as Bucky moves to a different part of the room. “How have you two been fairing down there in Pikesville? Really. Bucky doesn’t tell me anything.” Her smile is as sincere as Steve remembers, her kindness a fixed point in an ever changing universe.

“Oh,” Steve grins tightly, glaring daggers at Bucky over her shoulder. “He doesn’t tell me anything either. Must just be in his nature.”

“Steve!” Speak of the devil. “Get over here and meet everyone else.”

Bucky is now nearly submerged in the sea that the Barnes Clan unintentionally creates in the living room. And like hell is he going into that mess unescorted to be eaten alive by the masses. It’d be like throwing an apple in with the pigs.

And Steve is not about to go down that path.

So he just smiles, hopes Bucky can see the murder in his eyes, and says, “Still talking to your mom, Bucky. Since _some of us_ actually take the time to properly say hello.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, that same smile still fixed on his face. One of the taller Barnes Clansmen says something into his ear and Bucky chuckles, “God no. He’s from down south.” But when he says ‘down south’, he says _down south_ , that distinctive southern twang sounding ridiculous against his normal Brooklyn drawl.

And that’s...that’s not even accurate.

Because Indiana is the _midwest_ and they don’t even speak with Southern accents. They speak with _midwestern_ accents which are used in 99% of public broadcasting except for country music and local stations, thank you very much. So Steve feels perfectly justified in narrowing his eyes at Bucky for a moment before turning back to smile sweetly at Mrs. Barnes, “Would you excuse me for a minute, I think your son wants me to go beat him up.”

“You go right ahead, dear.” Mrs. Barnes pats his shoulder and Steve remembers why he shmoozes so hard in the first place: because having favorite status definitely comes with its perks.

So he strolls over to Bucky with a feigned confidence in his step, desperately screaming on the inside that if anyone touches him he’ll kick them so hard it’ll put the farm donkeys to shame. But no one bothers him on his trek over to Bucky and when he walks right up to the smug bastard’s face the whole place has gone silent.

“Wanna say that one more time?” He asks, _dares._ Because a part of him wants Bucky to say it. Wants Bucky to give him the excuse to deck him and storm out of the apartment in a huff, go right back to the airport and Indiana and _home._ His nostrils flare and his voice may’ve been quiet but he knows Bucky’s heard him loud and clear.

And Bucky must get with the program very quickly, because as soon as he glances down at him- as soon as they make that eye contact and there’s that silent conversation going on between them, he immediately straightens up.

He doesn’t say it one more time. He doesn’t say _anything_ for a moment, before that grin is back on his face and he’s slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him as close as he can as he directs his attention to the man who had asked the question. “Steve here’s from Indiana.”

Steve is still bristling a bit under Bucky’s arm but he allows the familiar warmth to soothe his nerves. After all, the man next to Bucky is looking him up and down and that trademark Barnes smile (although not quite the same as Bucky’s, no one’s could ever be the same) is sliding across his face. “Well, shit. Never thought I’d see the day someone got Bucky to actually shut up and behave.” He sticks his hand out to Steve, a gesture which Steve returns with slightly less enthusiasm, and says, “My name’s Brent, and it’s real nice to meet you, Steve from Indiana which is not Down South.”

“Right.” Steve answers. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too.”

“Fantastic,” Bucky says, a little sarcastically, before clapping once as some sort of subconscious transition onto the next person.

And just like that the floodgates have opened and the entire Barnes family comes pouring in to make their own introductions, swamping him and Bucky until all Steve can see are Brooklyn-slick smiles and curiously excited eyes. (It would probably help the situation if he was taller.)

He answers each person with as much poise as he can muster, saying his name, age, and occupation so many times he feels like he’s in school again playing those stupid ice-breaker games that everyone already knew the answer to but the teacher, since all the students had been together since pre-school. And whenever there’s a merciful break in the crowd Steve leans back and hisses death threats in Bucky’s ear, just to take the edge off.

“I’m going to bury your body so deep no one will ever find it,” He says in one particular fit of rage, secretly hating how warm and solid Bucky is, how much he simultaneously wants to burrow closer and wring his hands around Bucky’s neck. But Bucky is still just chuckling at his side.

“Hi Steve, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” One particular (aunt? he thinks it’s an aunt) says, “We’ve all heard so much about you from Bucky’s mom and it’s great to be able to put a face with a name.”

Steve smiles, feels like his cheeks are breaking from the intense workout he’s putting them through. “It’s great to meet all of you, too. Bucky’s always going on about Brooklyn and his family up here, so we figured it was about time I took the trip to meet everyone.”

“How sweet,” the woman coos.

Bucky’s hold around Steve tightens, like he must agree with her sentiment. And Steve still wants to wring his neck, but he supposes that the gesture helps lessen his urge to do it right this very moment. “Not all’ve them are sweet down there, ya know. This guy’s a real rarity.”

Steve forces a smile and turns his head to hiss, “Flattery’s not getting you out of this one, Bucky. But nice try.” Then he laughs and pulls away, hitting Bucky’s chest coyly like he’s said something demure (but really just wanting to puke on the inside.)

However his plan works, the aunt titters and murmurs something about young love and Steve not having to be so modest, then moves on, making room for the next batch of people.

“Bucky!” Another cousin shouts, plowing into them with a bear hug that leaves Steve’s face somewhere in the general vicinity of this random guy’s armpit. He catches a glimpse of a younger girl, probably about a teenager in years, and locks eyes with her just as he’s released from his sweaty prison. “It’s great to see you again, and your friend too! Steve, right?”

Steve nods, still staring at this girl and pleading silently with his eyes for her to do something, _anything._ Because if there’s anyone who’s going to understand the struggle he’s going through right now it’s going to be an angsty teenage girl. (And he’s not ashamed of that so shut it.)

“Scott!” Bucky practically cheers, clapping a hand onto his cousin’s shoulder. “The fuck you been up to, man? Nothing good, probably.”

Steve tunes out of the conversation as loud gu- _Scott,_ goes off on a tale about fireworks and sewer drains that Steve really has no interest in, especially not since the girl he’s been sending telepathic SOS’s to has started walking his way. She steps easily under Scott’s arm with the kind of cocky grace that Steve recognizes from Bucky and lifts a single eyebrow at Steve.

“So,” she starts. “Steve?”

He nods for the zillionth time that night. “Yes ma’am, that’s me. And you are?” And he’s extra polite for this one because she’s a lady and she’s helping him. He thinks.

“I’m Meredith, but that’s not the point.” The girl- Meredith- says, waving an arm as if to clear the conversation. “My mom said you liked horses? Knew about ‘em stuff?”

“Yeah,” Steve starts. And he doesn’t understand where this is going anymore but he plays along regardless, all too aware of the conversations still looming around him. “Yeah, I’ve ridden for years.”

Meredith’s face brightens with a spark and she gets a grin that Steve definitely likes. It spells trouble and that’s exactly what he thinks he needs right now. “Well then, I have someone who’d _really_ like to meet you. In fact, they might just steal you away all night.”

And okay, while another introduction wasn’t exactly what Steve had in mind...he’ll take it so long as it’s the last one of the evening. He slips out from under Bucky’s arm easily enough, both men distracted by each other and the commotion around them, and follows Meredith into the far corner of the room where a little playpen has been erected, made of white mesh and obnoxiously yellow trim with a vast menagerie of toys scattered inside.

Toys which, Steve soon notices, are mostly horse related.

Meredith stoops down and plucks a wide-eyed toddler from the pen then turns back in Steve’s direction. “This is Johnny,” she explains. “He’s got a real thing for horses. Wants to be a cowboy when he grows up.”

And Steve’s entire evening brightens just like that. “Oh, really?” He says, sticking out a hand and curling his fingers carefully around the little boy’s fist. “Well, if he’d like I’d be happy to tell him all about riding and taking care of horses.” He can tell the kid’s interest is piqued so he adds a little extra sweetener to seal the deal. “You want me to tell you about the time Bucky tried to ride a horse and got smacked in the face with a branch?”

And just like that the kid’s sold and Steve’s home free.

Meredith passes Johnny into Steve’s arms and saunters back over to slump down on the couch, fiddling with her phone as Steve clambers into the playpen and settles Johnny in his lap.

And that’s exactly how Bucky finds him a couple hours later, surrounded by a full re-enactment of a cattle run through Texas.

“Having fun there, pal?” Bucky’s eyebrows are raised into a silent judgmental stare, a smirk slowly working its way across his lips with every passing second - like he’s literally biting back the words he truly wants to say.

Before Steve can answer, Johnny is piping up from where he’s sprawled half on the floor and half in Steve’s lap. “Tons of fun, Uncle Bucky!” He sits up and gives Bucky a tilted-head look. “Sorry ‘bout your face though.”

“My face…”

“Yeah, Steve told me how you got hit with a branch and that’s why you look like a poop all the time.” He says it so matter-of-factly and with so much cheer that Steve can’t help but snicker into his shoulder. “But I’m not supposed to use potty words.”

Bucky’s face flashes with what seems to be fondness over a distant memory. “Yeah well...Uncle Bucky has a story for Steve about just _why_ he got hit with that branch.”

“Just for Steve?” Johnny asks.

Bucky’s smile twists, like he’s got the most interesting secret ever locked behind his lips. “Just for Steve. Sorry, little guy.”

And thankfully Johnny seems to have a pretty solid grasp on ‘adult talk’ because he only pouts for a moment before he lets it go.

“Alright,” Steve says, shifting Johnny off his lap and standing, wincing when his knees pop. “I think that’s my cue to leave. But it was real nice meeting you, Johnny.”

“You too, Steve.” Johnny grins back, already going for the toy horses as Steve steps over the fencing and up to Bucky’s side.

“So.” Steve says.

“So,” Bucky says too. “ _Someone_ was getting in touch with their inner child.” He nudges Steve, their shoulders knocking together as they walk.

“Still in deep shit, Bucky.” Steve smiles back, waving to a few of Bucky’s relatives as they pass, face kept in a serenely happy expression even though he’s currently planning murder. (After all, just because he got to spend a few hours playing with a little kid doesn’t negate that Bucky _lied_ to him and basically threw him to the wolves without any preparation.)

Bucky must tune into that fact. “Does it help my case if I say you look adorable as hell today?”

“Nope,” Steve says, popping the ‘p’ just because he can.

“Well then,” Bucky sighs, cracking his fingers like he’s about to get some serious work done. “Guess I’m just gonna have to make it up to you.” And then he’s leading Steve, not to more people to meet, but to the front door.

“We going somewhere?” Steve asks, a stupid question really considering how Bucky’s kissing his mother on the cheek and waving goodbye to everyone back in the livingroom. Everyone choruses a ‘ _Goodbye, Steve’_ just as Bucky says his redundant: “Yes we are.”

So Steve tries a different question. “Where?”

And Bucky laughs - _laughs_ \- shaking his head like this is the most amusing thing in the world to him, like he doesn’t for one second forget everything that Steve put him through in Pikesville. “Gonna pull a ‘you.’ Show you all my favorite things.”

And Steve’s eyebrows lift, interest piqued despite his determination to the contrary.

“Well,” he finally says. “You better not disappoint me.”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.”

 

\---+---


	3. …This is not a Horse

 

** Chapter Two: **

 

How Steve could ever be disappointed by anything that Brooklyn has to offer is beyond Bucky. Literally anything and everything you can do here is remarkably more entertaining than it necessarily should be. (And that’s probably why Bucky got mixed up in some shady shit more than once in his youth.)

But he digresses.

Bucky is going to show his precious little (naggy) Stevie just how fucking fantastic Brooklyn is. The fact that Steve dragged his ass all around Pikesville his first summer there pretty much seals the deal for Bucky. This is happening.

And what’s more obvious of a first stop than the grodiest form of public transportation imaginable?

Ahhh yes. The subway. The good ol’ MTA. The living, breathing lifeline of Broo--

“Bucky, what the hell even is this place? It’s disgusting and I can’t even move.” Steve asks, looking around like he’s just been teleported into a barn full of nothing but cow manure (actually, that face would probably be happier). They skirt through another mass of people and Steve uses the death grip on his shirt to drag him back a bit and say, “You do realize this isn’t helping your case at all, right? In fact, I think you just moved from getting axe murdered to being put through a woodchipper.”

But Bucky’s not worried at all. And why should he be? He’s been bopping around these subways since he was able to crawl. (Okay that’s an exaggeration.) But seriously.

“Deep breaths, Steve,” he says before taking a wonderful, gigantic breath in. Ahhh...the disgusting smell of the subway. Fucking fantastic. “Smell that gorgeous underground air.”

Steve just coughs and buries his face in his sleeve. “It smells like pollution and everything wrong with the world. You’re lucky I thought to bring my inhaler.”

“You’ll be fine.” And then the train-car is pulling up, the mass of bodies all beginning to shuffle toward the general vicinity of the opening doors. That’s one of the best parts about taking the MTA. You never miss your ride because you’re physically carried over when the time is right. “Just hold my fucking hand if you’re gonna whine about it.”

He’s not sure how holding hands equates to taking medicine to help yourself breathe, but it sounded good in his head, and they’re already shuffling onto the train-car before he knows it.

It’s not unusual for every seat to be taken by those crazy fuckers who fight their way in first. Bucky hasn’t actually _sat down_ on the subway since that one night when it was around 4a.m. and he and his buddies had just staggered out of that one club. Shit, what was its name…?

His musing is cut short when he feels Steve’s hand wiggle its way into his own, fingers slipping between his knuckles before clamping down so hard he’s sure some of his bones are grinding together. “Bucky,” Steve hisses. “There’s too many _people_.”

It would be another one of those totally adorable things that Steve does, if it wasn’t for the fact that Bucky can see the very real discomfort written blatantly across Steve’s normally easy-going mug. But there’s nothing he can do now, because the doors are closing and the train is beginning to move with a not so gentle jerk.

“And do you even know who any of them are?” Steve continues. “There could be a serial killer in here. There could be a gang or a mob or the mafia. And why do they all have to be so close? I don’t like people I don’t know touching me, Buck. What if one of them has chicken pox or something? I’m going to die. I’m going to die in this stupid metal tube and it’s your fault.” He seems to realize for a moment how his voice has taken on a bit of a frantic edge, because he tries to deflect with a half-assed attempt at sass. “But don’t think my dying gets you off the hook, I’m going to come back as a ghost and kill you in revenge.”

Bucky first and foremost opts to not let Steve know that someone carrying _chicken pox_ is the least of their worries. Especially in Brooklyn. He figures that would do nothing but frazzle him even further. “Awful lotta death threats coming from you today, pal.”

“I fucking wonder why.” Is Steve’s answer, said from between clenched teeth. Someone bumps into his back and he squeezes his eyes shut and starts mumbling something under his breath.

The car slowly comes to a halt at Bergen Street, people from all sides rustling about and pushing forward in order to get off. It doesn’t help that he and Steve had been towards the end of the initial swarm of people getting on, because that means they’re stuck closer to the doors. (Which Bucky thought was a good thing until now.) Because now, with everyone moving around to get off at their stop, there’s an awful lot of bumping and grinding that feels like home to Bucky, but has probably got Steve ready to shoot through the roof.

He attempts to soothe the situation with some trademark sass. “Thought you’d like the subway, Steve.” He offers a smirk and then snakes an arm around Steve’s side, pulling him even closer than they had been previously. “It’s the city version of a horse.”

Steve takes full advantage of the opportunity and crushes himself as close to Bucky as physically possible, even turning them a bit so he’s more towards the wall and Bucky’s back is to the still shifting crowds. “Nothing like a horse,” he mutters into Bucky’s chest. “Nothing like a horse at all. Stupid city-slicker train…I hate this.”

And God, Steve is such a fucking pain in the ass, but he’s _Bucky’s_ pain in the ass. And he loves him for it. So Bucky slings his other arm around him, completing his own little bubble of safety for his ninety-five pound punk of a boyfriend, and then plants a kiss on the top of his head with a grin.

Steve just kind of glares a hole into the front of Bucky’s shirt then leans in, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin as the car rattles around them. And it takes a few minutes, another stop or two, but eventually Steve does begin to relax, turning his head to rest on Bucky’s sternum and watch the dimly lit cement blur by.

And Bucky stands there, guarding over Steve not because he’s obligated to, but because he wants to, shooting a glare toward anyone who has the balls to look at them funny.

Their stop comes much sooner than Bucky really cares for, because Steve has finally calmed down and...may possibly be sleeping standing up--he’s not sure. But either way, he ruffles a hand through Steve’s hair and says, “We’re here.”

And he kind of wishes he could see Steve’s face, see if he _was_ actually sleeping or not (because God knows no amount of teasing will ever convince Steve to fess up to it).

When Steve does finally pull away, he squints up at Bucky then to the doors opening a few feet away, eyeing all of the people in their path the same way Bucky’s seen him eye the weeds that dare muck up his mother’s vegetable garden. “So we have to go...through there?”

“Yep,” Bucky grins, holding back a chuckle because honestly, Steve is too cute for words sometimes. “But I’ll go first.”

He sneaks one more kiss on top of Steve’s head and then carefully unwraps his arms from him, instead grabbing onto one of his hands and leading them through the clump of people in front of them.

He looks back once, because that’s really all time allows for, to make sure that Steve isn’t in the middle of one of those freak out things he has where he needs his inhaler. But Steve’s fine. A little worse for wear, but still fine.

The moment they hit the (kind of fresh) Brooklyn air again, Bucky can’t help but take a second to breath it in - close his eyes and just fucking let the fact that he’s finally here again sink into his bones.

Because yes. _Fuck_ yes.

He missed this so much.

When he finally manages to open his eyes, post metaphorical orgasm, Steve is regarding him with one eyebrow raised - a look that has been shot Bucky’s way more times than he can count.

“So what am I supposed to be looking at exactly?” He turns away to survey their surroundings for a moment then adds, “Just looks like a bunch of buildings to me.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “A bunch of-- Jesus Christ, Steve, look around you!” Because how on God’s green earth is he not jumping out of his skin right now? “This is fuckin’ Brooklyn, man! Take it in!” He opens his arms like he’s either in the middle of preaching a sermon or he’s about to attempt to give the entire city a gigantic bear-hug.

So of course Steve has to go and ruin the moment, again.

“How can I look around when everything’s too tall? All I can see are _buildings._ ”

“Everything’s too tall because you’re short as hell, Stevie,” Bucky scoffs, then dips down toward Steve’s thighs, because if Steve is seriously going to bitch about not being able to see things, he’s getting on top of Bucky’s fucking shoulders and that’s just the end of it.

Steve flails spectacularly and clings to Bucky’s head, already struggling to get free even though Bucky barely has him off the ground. “You’re going to drop me, you idiot!” Steve gives him a punch on the shoulder and pushes at his face.

“I will if you don’t quite squirming!” Bucky practically giggles, because seeing Steve turn into some sort of arm-flailing octopus is truly a sight to see. “Stop--STEVE, just let me hold you, for Christ’s sake!”

Someone passing by on the street shoots them a look and Steve seems deflate at the negative attention they’re receiving, his small-town upbringing making him unable to be a disruptive asshole to people he doesn’t know, even just out on the street. “Buck, this isn’t going to work,” he grumbles. “Put me down so we can fucking adjust or something, if you’re going to be a stubborn jerk about it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes - really this isn’t supposed to be this big of a production - but he supposes he could’ve gave some sort of warning before trying to lug Steve over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Fine. Jesus.” But he’s smiling as he allows Steve to jump down, before crouching down on the ground and looking up at him expectantly. “Hop on, cowboy.”

Steve blushes and glares, but steps forward nonetheless, spreading his legs to straddle Bucky’s waist and letting Bucky get a hold underneath his thighs. Then Steve’s arms are wrapping around his neck and he’s giving Bucky’s sides a kick like he really is a cowboy and Bucky’s become his goddamn horse. “Yah!” Steve shouts, grinning like an idiot but with enough edge to his voice that Bucky knows he’s eating this up.

And yes, _why_ Bucky has never carried Steve like this before, he has no idea. Because now he has perfect access to his thighs and he can mess with him whenever he wants and Steve can’t do a fucking thing about it. Case in point: when they’re halfway down the street and Bucky thinks it’d be absolutely hysterical to jerk a little, hands coming out from under Steve’s thighs for a moment, the illusion of falling forcing Steve to clamp his thighs down around Bucky’s waist. And _Jesus_ , why hasn’t he done this sooner?

“Buck,” Steve whines, smacking a hand to the side of Bucky’s face and keeping it there, using it to push at his head like a petulant child. “Behave.”

“What?” Bucky chuckles, reestablishing his grip on Steve’s thighs. “Just getting you ready for your other ride tonight.”

And even though Bucky can’t see him, he can imagine the way Steve’s face must turn positively red at that. “ _James Buchanan Barnes we are in public._ ” He hisses, clamping one of his hands over Bucky’s mouth (as if that would ever actually keep him quiet). “You’re not getting any tonight, anyway. Not after all the shit you’ve pulled today. So you can just get your mind right out of the gutter.”

Bucky halts - fucking _stops walking and just stands there in the middle of the sidewalk_. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” He hopes he is. Christ, does he hope he is. “You wouldn’t do that to your Bucky-bear would you?” Because now _is_ the perfect time to whip that name out - especially since it was uttered while in the throes of one of their more heated moments.

Steve is quiet for a second, processing and probably dying a little on the inside of shame.

Then, voice deadly serious, says, “Watch me.”

Okay, so maybe Bucky shouldn’t have brought that whole name-slip up. He gets that now. He does. But, “I’ll change your mind,” he hums, because more than five years with Steve has allowed Bucky access to nearly every single thing that makes him tick.

“Oh really? You’re somehow going to make up for the past hours of torture you’ve put me through?” He sounds completely unconvinced. Like he has no confidence in Bucky’s abilities at all. “I’d like to see you try.”

But Bucky is more than confident, his strut down the sidewalk impossibly cool. He still has a shit ton more to show Steve. It’s only the first day, after all.

“You’ll see.”

 

\---+---


	4. Suspender Sex…Still a Thing That Should Happen

 

** Chapter Three: **

 

The following morning, Steve wakes up with the sun. Or at least he thinks he does. It’s kind of hard to tell sometimes with all of the buildings blocking the light. He can’t see the first rays peak over the horizon, he has to wait for them to make their way over the brick wall of a building opposite Mrs. Barnes’ apartment. (Bucky’s told him you pay more for a view, this part of the world, and Steve thinks that’s stupid.)

But either way, he’s up and it’s early and Bucky is still asleep face-first into the pillows, snoring and drooling up a storm like the adorable idiot he is. And really, Steve doesn’t know why he’s so fond of him, why he had to go and fall in love with some jackass city-slicker from Brooklyn but he did. So he’s learned to embrace it.

He sits with a cup of coffee and reads the paper (that’s ten times thicker than the Pikesville Press) and it’s probably another hour or two before he feels strong arms wrap around his shoulders and the scratch of stubble against his neck.

“Mornin’...”

“Good morning, Buck.” Steve answers back, still mostly focused on his paper. He’s never been easy to... _rile..._ in the morning so the fact that Bucky’s currently kissing along his jaw doesn’t do much to distract him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” he can feel Bucky’s lips curve into a pointed smirk against his skin, warm and teasing. “Told you I’d change your mind.”

And Steve feels absolutely no hesitation or remorse when he promptly jabs his elbow back into Bucky’s stomach, digging in the bony point of it before standing up from the table and heading to the sink. He washes his mug out then walks calmly back to Bucky.

“Didn’t actually change my mind though, Buck.” Steve murmurs, lifting a hand to skirt teasing fingers along Bucky’s collarbone. “Cuz, see, I was planning something different yesterday, before you pulled all that shit. And last night? That was nothing. You may’ve gotten what you _thought_ you wanted, but really…” He smirks slowly and presses a slow kiss to Bucky’s lips. “You still lost.”

Then he pulls away with another smug grin, and walks back to the bedroom to change, calling out over his shoulder, “Your mother left a note, by the way. Apparently she’s out all day with friends.” And then he slams the door.

He locks it, too. Just in case Bucky didn’t get the hint.

He takes his time changing, slipping on his worn jeans and soft undershirt, pulling on a button-up (navy blue with light blue stripes, one of Bucky’s favorites on him, just because he feels like being mean) then tucking everything in. Lastly come the suspenders, tugged up over his shoulders by his thumbs and let to snap into place.

And yeah, he knows what they to do Bucky, too.

He’s doing this entirely on purpose and it’s going to be amazing. Because if he’s going to suffer at Bucky’s hands then damnit Bucky is going to suffer at his. And there’s no quicker way to Bucky’s nerves than through his dick.

There’s a knocking at the door that borders on slight franticness, Bucky’s voice following suit and just as clipped. “Almost done dicking around in there? Got something else to show ya today.”

Steve opens the door without any warning, nearly causing Bucky to stumble forward, and levels the other man with a look. “You really feel confident about that decision?”

Once Bucky has recovered from nearly face-planting into the carpet, he wastes no time taking in Steve’s appearance with an appreciative grin. “Yep,” he says, but it comes out much more wrecked than he probably intended it to. He tucks his fingers under the straps of Steve’s suspenders and uses them to pull Steve towards him. “Got something you’ll actually enjoy today.”

Steve studies his expression, decides that Bucky at least _believes_ himself to be telling the truth, and figures if worse comes to worst he can manage another day of Brooklyn insanity. Because even though he will be miserable and suffering, he’ll at least get to see Bucky happy and in his element. And that’s enough for him.

But Bucky doesn’t need to know that.

“Better get changed then,” he simply says, patting Bucky’s chest once before extricating himself from the hold on his suspenders. “I’ll be waiting in the kitchen when you’re done.”

He hears the door shut before he’s hardly taken a step and smirks to himself, proud at his ability to play his man like a fiddle. Suspenders are like some form of Bucky catnip and Steve takes full advantage of that whenever possible.

Which is why later, as they’re walking down the street towards their mystery destination after getting dropped off by a cab (Bucky had apparently learned his lesson on that front at least), Steve makes sure to fiddle with the straps across his chest. He pulls at them with his thumbs, adjusts the metal clips, and just generally draws as much attention to them as possible without being too overt about it.

“You’re killin’ me,” Bucky groans not too quietly from where he’s standing, one hand reaching up like he’s going to tuck a finger beneath one of the light brown straps, but then stopping, apparently exhibiting some form of self-control that Steve hasn’t seen for ages.

“Hm?” Steve questions innocently, looking up at Bucky with the widest eyes possible. “What’d you say?”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, slowing them and pulling them off to the side. “Okay, I change my mind,” he says, leaning into Steve’s space, “Let’s go back and I’ll show you this tomorrow.”

Steve tilts his head to the side. “But aren’t we already almost there?”

And that smidgen of self-restraint that Bucky was showing must break down, because then his fingers are trailing underneath both straps of Steve’s suspenders, gliding down the stretchy material to where they meet his belt loops and pulling him forward. “C’mon, Steve…”

“I don’t get what your problem is all of a sudden, Buck.” Steve says. (But oh, he _knows._ ) “Let’s just go to the place now, and we’ll be back home later anyway.” He gives Bucky a weird look then swats his hands away. “Dont’ even know why you wanna go back all of a sudden, you’re mom’s not even there. Did you forget something?”

But Bucky just pulls him closer, until he’s snug against his chest and his voice has gone low and husky and Steve knows _exactly_ what that means. “S’my fucking point. No one’s there. Whole house to ourselves.” And now he’s not even speaking in complete sentences.

“And why would we want that?” Steve asks, keeping his tone chipper but letting some of the falseness of it seep through. His eyes meet Bucky’s and he sees the moment that horrible realization comes to Bucky’s face. “Yup, so we’re just gonna go to this place you want to show me and then when we’re done. _Only_ when we’re done. We’ll head home.”

And Steve’s pretty sure that that’s a frustrated growl that just escaped Bucky’s mouth, but he can’t call him out on it because then Bucky’s leaning in, smashing their lips together for a solid moment before releasing his grip on Steve altogether. “You’re the worst,” Bucky grumbles, but there’s nothing in his tone that suggests he means it.

“Maybe,” Steve shrugs. “But just remember this moment next time you try to fuck with me. Maybe then you’ll learn.”

Bucky groans again, something Steve is actually rather used to when it comes to these situations. But then he leads them back onto the sidewalk. And then they’re back on track to...wherever it is they’re going.

And it turns out they’re going to some kind of farm museum. A rather unobtrusive building that has families milling around its entrance and a welcome sign with a cartoon farmer on the front, drawn in chalk on a blackboard because this is still New York and everything apparently has to be artsy.

But still, the thought behind the trip is not lost on him and he stands up on his tip toes to press a lingering kiss to Bucky’s lips once they’ve bought their passes, saying _thank you_ and _I love you_ and _I appreciate the gesture_ all at once.

Bucky smiles down at him, cocky glint back in his eyes now that he knows he’s done well, and then they’re off, moving through the building on their own because honestly, Steve doesn’t need a tour guide to tell him what everything is.

In fact, he ends up being Bucky’s personal tour guide, dragging him around to all of the different pictures and diagrams and models, pointing things out and explaining how they work. Because this is something he knows. And with every exhibit he comments on he feels a little of the confidence that’s escaped him since coming to Brooklyn return.

“See this?” He says at one particular display, pointing to the big diagram on the wall and making sure Bucky follows. “This is the most important thing in the whole place.”

(It’s a wall about the germination and growth cycles of corn and Steve knows Bucky’s exact opinion on Pikesville’s favorite crop.)

“The most important thing, huh?” Bucky chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he takes in the majesty of the diagram. “And why’s that, Farmer Steve? Please enlighten me with your tales of corn and it’s importance to our very way of life.”

“Because,” Steve starts, “Corn is obviously the most important crop of all. It’s responsible for cornbread, creamed corn, corn casserole, corn on the cob, cob salad, many types of salsas, animal feed- in other words all that meat you’re eating has been eating corn therefore you are eating corn.” He lists everything off on his fingers as he goes. “It’s also used in cereals and crackers. In fact, there are over 4,200 different uses for corn products. Therefore, corn wins at everything and you should study this diagram with all the reverence it deserves.”

“Mhm, I’ll get right on that,” Bucky drones, grins still firmly locked into place. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

Steve hears a little gasp and turns to see a couple of small children standing behind them, looking up at Bucky as though he’s just offered to give them a strip tease right in the middle of the museum. Which is _exactly_ why he always tellsBucky not to curse in public.

“Hey there,” he says, hoping to distract them. “Can we help you?”

The kids look up at him and shake their heads. “No, we were just listening.” One of them says. “Corn is pretty cool.” The other one adds.

And, okay, Steve can work with this. Steve is all _over_ this.

And that’s how they end up back at the main entrance of museum with not just two, but ten different children trailing in their wake like a set of little ducklings. Their parents are there too, and though they’ve mostly been staying in the background as Steve led the group through all the various exhibits, they move forward now to collect their kids and thank Steve for the tour.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that he doesn’t actually work there.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky tells him, which loosely translates to _You’re amazing._ (He’s known Bucky long enough to automatically break down his compliments.)

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs and smiles then reaches down to take Bucky’s hand, using it for balance as he presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Your face is ridiculous.” He rocks back down to his heels and hooks his thumbs under his suspenders. “You ready to go back?”

It’s no surprise that Bucky’s eyes fix immediately to where Steve has his hands. No surprise at all. “Fuck yeah, I am.” Apparently Bucky _hasn’t_ learned anything about cursing in public places.  

Steve just smirks and turns around, leading the way out of the museum and back out onto the street. And if he walks a little bit ahead of Bucky on their way back to the apartment and has a bit more of a swing to his hips than strictly necessary...well, that isn’t anybody’s business but his own.

 

\---+---


	5. The Lemur King

 

** Chapter Four: **

 

The thing is, they definitely could have gone to Prospect Park Zoo instead - wouldn’t have had to drive as long, and that would have been that much less time that Bucky had to listen to Steve bitch about wanting to know where they were going. But there’s one thing that Bucky knows about the zoos in New York, and that’s that Bronx Zoo is the fucking best.

They’ve got all kinds of shit here - stuff Bucky’s sure Steve has only seen in books, or heard out-of-towners talk about. And the fact that Bucky’s going to be the one to show him these things - open his animal-appreciation range a few thousand clicks - that makes him proud as hell. Even if they’re not _technically_ in Brooklyn anymore.

(“Yeah, we _totally_ are.”

“Bucky, it doesn’t count if we’re not actually in the--”

“Shut up and let me drive, will ya?”

And yeah, they don’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of many when they drive around in this piece of shit pickup truck (that Steve insisted on picking among the other perfectly good rental cars), but Bucky’s doing his goddamn best, gripping the wheel like the entire thing is going to fall apart underneath him.)

One of the awesome things about Bronx Zoo is the fact that you can walk around the entire day and still not see everything it has to offer. Or, the fact that they’ve actually got some really unique-looking fuckers running around here.

And yet, the very first animal that Steve wants to stop and look at is a zebra.

A fucking...zebra.

“It’s just like a horse,” Bucky sighs, longing to drag Steve away and towards the butterfly garden, because that’s where all the real magic happens. “This is nothing new for you.”

But Steve doesn’t even dignify the sentiment with a response, just plants himself firmly in front of the guardrail and watches.

Bucky briefly thanks every deity out there for that rail, because God knows that if it wasn’t there, Steve would be all up in the zebra’s business at the blink of an eye. Naming it. Rubbing its nose and shit. Trying to feed it apples. Real _Steve_ kinda stuff.

He allows the distraction for a few more minutes before dragging Steve away and towards the glass building perched invitingly at the end of the walkway. He doesn’t even offer an answer when Steve asks what’s inside, just keeps pulling him until they’ve breached the doors and are suddenly surrounded by the light fluttering of wings.

The room is like something out of the books his mom would read him growing up, every wall and even the ceiling covered in windows that allow the natural light to stream in - down onto the grass and flowers and ridiculous amount of butterflies that float about in the air.

Some of them rest on outstretched leaves, others hover in little clustered groups until a kid comes up and scatters them with a curious finger.

And Steve...Steve is just standing there, mouth open as he looks up at the varying hues and shapes and sizes of each butterfly that floats past.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Bucky asks, hushed and unabrasive as he watches Steve take it all in.

And at first, Steve doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at all of the colors moving around them with this soft smile on his face that Bucky really wants to touch. But then a butterfly flutters over and lands on the crown of his head and Steve looks up at it all cross eyed and amazed. “Buck,” he whispers, voice tight with excitement like he’s trying so hard to contain himself and not scare the thing away. “Buck, look.”

As if he wasn’t already.

“I’ve never seen a butterfly this big before...Do they tell you anywhere what it’s called?”

Bucky gives a half-hearted attempt at a glance around before shrugging and pulling his phone out. “I dunno, Stevie,” he says, then holds the phone up to snap a picture of Steve. Because if Bucky thought Steve was cute with bunnies, Jesus Christ...Steve with butterflies is so fucking cute it feels like he’s going to have a heart attack and die.

And yeah, maybe he doesn’t need seventeen pictures of this on his phone, but he’s just a little in love, is all.

Four more pictures and one unappreciated video later, the butterfly finally decides that it’s time to move on, plucking itself from Steve’s head and floating over to a particularly attractive flower in the corner of the room.

Bucky smiles down at Steve, silently wondering if they too can move on, but not wanting to break whatever kind of magical moment is going on in Steve’s head. Because he’s got this super blissed-out grin dancing across his lips and...yeah, Bucky snaps a picture of that too.

Steve responds normally to that one. “Buck, c’mon. That’s enough. You don’t need that many pictures of the same exact thing.”

“Yeah I do,” Bucky muses, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket and lacing his fingers with Steve’s. “Come on,” he grins. And then they’re headed towards the doors.

Next on the agenda is the fish exhibit, because, _again_ , Bucky is hard-pressed to think of a way that Steve could’ve seen fish like this before. And, _again_ , there’s that little something like pride that wells up in his chest knowing that he’s the one to show him.

Bucky’s favorite are the stingrays. And the stingrays are his favorite because:

“They’re so fucking smooth. Feel ‘em, Steve.”

They’re currently perched over the small pool sectioned off as the “Pet A Stingray Today” section, Bucky reaching into the water until he’s elbow-deep.

And Steve, sweet little Steve stands a step behind him and fucking _rolls up his sleeves_ before walking right up to the water and sticking both hands down as far as they can reach. Bucky can tell he’s watching other people from the corner of his eye to try to figure out exactly what he’s supposed to be doing, but he catches on quickly, and before long he’s looking up at Bucky with wide, excited eyes. “It feels like velvet.”

A particularly large ray circles close to them, seeming to eye their hands with curiosity. And yes, Bucky _needs_ to be touching that fucking thing.

He leans forward, half of the bottom of his shirt getting soaked in the process, but he doesn’t give one fuck because then _yes_ , the ray is gliding softly under both of his hands, its wings smoothing under Bucky’s fingers with ease. And _fuck_ yes. This is why they’re here. “Touch it, Steve,” Bucky chants, not even caring that he sounds as excited as he feels.

But when he glances over, his heart breaks right in his chest, because Steve is reaching with all his might, but he’s just not tall enough to reach out to where the ray is swimming by (which is a real design flaw considering all the kids around).

And that’s just not fucking acceptable, Bucky decides, quickly sliding his hands out of the water and hustling behind Steve so he can wrap his (wet) arms around Steve’s middle and hoist him farther over the edge.

It’s a testament to just how much Steve is enjoying this experience that he doesn’t even say anything at the help, just lets Bucky’s arms hold him as he reaches out and runs his fingers over the large ray’s back.

“This is amazing,” Steve says, “I didn’t think you were allowed to touch the animals at the zoo.”

Bucky chuckles, keeping his grip tight around Steve’s waist. “Well, you touch whatever animals you _want_ , you just might not be living after you do it.” He laughs at his own joke. Because it’s funny - at least, it’s funny to him. Then he adds, “Not exactly your Indiana state fair, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “But don’t worry, I won’t hold that against you.” Then he smirks and hops down from the edge of the pool, giving his hands a single shake before reaching out and lacing their fingers together again. And it’s wet and it’s clammy and who knows what kind of stingray emissions they’ve got between their palms, but Bucky’s just happy that Steve’s so happy, dragging him onto the next visible tank with an excited smile.

He _stays_ happy, stepping back and watching as Steve’s face brightens with wonder, lit by the backdrop of curling water and colorful fish.

Everything about it is just so happy. The reptile house is happy. The sea lion cove is happy. Everything. And Bucky’s so happy that he could die.

Until…

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Because...that’s new. They didn’t have that shit here five years ago.

They’re halfway through some sort of unnamed mammal exhibit and now there’s this...this fucking _thing_ on this lady’s fucking _arm_ , and it’s staring right at Bucky with its crazy yellow eyes.

Steve, who doesn’t seem as personally attacked by this creature, walks over to the tiny sign positioned near the woman who’s holding it. “Red-ruffed lemur…” he reads, then he turns back to Bucky and says, “They’re from the rainforests of Masoala, Madagascar.” As if that’s somehow really fucking important and interesting.

Because it’s not. Not one bit.

And Bucky can’t even put into words how alarming this fucking thing’s eyes are. Yeah, it’s fuzzy and orange and looks like it’s got a funny haircut, but Jesus Christ--

“Steve!” Because suddenly Steve is _walking over there_. He’s fucking approaching this thing that’s come straight out of Hell and how is Bucky supposed to save him if it attacks and he’s way the fuck over here? “Steve!”  

But Steve ignores him and continues on his quest, getting as close to the thing as the little rope divider will allow before turning back to Bucky with a grin. “Isn’t it adorable, Buck?” Without waiting for an answer, he turns back to the thing and coos, “So adorable. Like a monkey and a bunny had a baby.”

And _no._ There’s no _possible_ way an adorable bunny had _any_ part in creating that...that demon creature that’s using it’s creepy fucking eyes to stare right into Bucky’s soul. How is Steve doing this? How is he not aware that this lemur thing is going to scratch his eyes out with it’s gross little claws if he gets too close? “Steve!” How do you speak again? How do you say something other than a desperate attempt to get your hardheaded boyfriend away from that--

Bucky’s heart stops in his chest and he freezes in his spot -  the very polar opposite of what he wants to do because all of the sudden that thing is _leaping_ from its handler’s arm and jumping on Steve’s _fucking shoulder_ and Jesus fucking Christ!

Steve, however, does not seem to recognize the mortal peril he’s in and just stands there grinning while the handler goes on about how sorry she is and that he’s never done that before. “It’s okay,” Steve says, leaning forwards a bit as the lemur walks from one shoulder to the other, curling around Steve’s neck in the spot Bucky’s arm usually goes. “He’s cute. What’s his name?”

And the handler just looks at Steve for a moment, as if she too cannot understand how this boy is real, then says, “His name’s Mena. And, although I’m very happy that he’s made a friend, I’m afraid it’s outside zoo policy to let patrons handle the animals. Not that you’re in any trouble. You can’t help him jumping on you, just-”

Steve smiles easily at the woman’s frantic explanation. “No, I understand. Don’t want people who don’t know what they’re doing to hurt one of the animals on accident. Or hurt themselves. Same as it is on the farm.” He looks up at the lemur and jostles his shoulders a bit, leading the lemur to sit up and wrap its fingers in Steve’s hair for support. “Hey Mena you need to go back home now, can you do that for me? Huh?”

He sidles as close as he can to the rope divider then leans over as well, waiting until Mena gets the hint and jumps back onto the handler’s waiting arm.

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief.

Steve looks like he’s just won the lottery- and comes promptly running back to Bucky’s side with a wide grin on his face. “That was incredible! Wait until I tell Ma that I had a real live lemur on my back. She’s not gonna believe me.”

And although Bucky’s still dying inside - curled up and screaming like a little baby - he can’t help but take one look at Steve’s obvious excitement and start to feel himself unwind. And now he really wishes he could have held it together for even one second so he could’ve gotten a picture of Steve in his element. Because wouldn’t _that_ be something to show Mrs. Rogers. _Yes, I took your son to the zoo and turns out he’s actually Tarzan or some shit._ “Glad you’re so excited,” Bucky grins tightly.

And Steve seems to come down from his high a bit, looking at Bucky curiously for a moment before a shit-eating grin is spreading across his face. “Oh, I’m definitely excited. So excited that I really want you to meet the little guy. Bet he’ll love you, too. Maybe jump on your shoulder like he did with me.”

“Ha,” Bucky deadpans, although the image makes his stomach roll with dread. “Wouldn’t wanna steal your special moment, Steve: King of Lemurs.” He then sidesteps around the group of people foolishly watching the demonstration and leads them out the doors.

The rest of the day runs smoothly, except for the tail end of their journey. Because that’s when Steve alerts Bucky to the fact that he has to pee and then runs off without any other warning, leaving Bucky to stand awkwardly amongst the pigeons.

He doesn’t think anything of it (especially because it’s Steve, and if Steve says he’s going to go do something, he does it...simple as that), until fifteen minutes have passed and Bucky is still standing there, alone (no more pigeons) and wondering where the hell Steve got off to.

Half of him considers that Steve just got distracted by something lame again, like the zebras. The other half of him, that cold reality side that kicks in whenever he’s home in Brooklyn, hopes that nothing’s wrong - that Steve isn’t stuck someplace, getting mugged or bullied or any other kind of bullshit that sets his blood on fire.

Bucky’s almost about to tear the entire Bronx Zoo in half looking for him, when Steve finally pops back up, a mischievous grin plastered all over his face and both hands behind his back.

Bucky bites back the urge to ask him what took so long because he was fucking _worried_ as hell, instead raising a concerned eyebrow.

That’s when Steve pulls his hand from behind his back, revealing one tiny, soft, and impossibly creepy red-ruffed lemur stuffed animal.

And Bucky’s not sure he’s ever seen that particular shade of evil grin on Steve’s stupid fucking mouth before. But it both makes Bucky want to kiss it off and snap at him.

But, he takes the stuffed lemur anyway, because he’s a good boyfriend like that.

 

\---+---


	6. Ferris Wheel Moment: Take Two

 

** Chapter Five: **

 

It’s the fourth day of his time in Brooklyn and Steve is currently traipsing through the crowded streets of Coney Island, an amusement park area that had Bucky’s eyes lighting up like it was Christmas day. Honestly, with the look on his boyfriend’s face you’d think they were journeying through Narnia or something.

But so far all he’s seen is a larger version of the carnival rides section at the state fair. Which, looking back, that’s definitely the area Bucky had been most excited about back then, so the child-like fascination with their current surroundings actually does make a lot of sense.

Regardless, Steve’s finding it more enjoyable to watch Bucky take it all in than to actually do any taking in himself. Because Bucky’s got that look in his eye when he’s about to do something he loves and a smile as carefree as when they’re just floating in the pond. But there’s also an edge to him, that little bit of Brooklyn jaggedness Steve recognizes from when they first met that puts him apart from the tourist crowd and identifies him as someone who _belongs._

So while Steve isn’t exactly thrilled to be surrounded by crowds of unfamiliar people who talk too fast and don’t smile back, lost in a jungle of giant steel rides so much bigger than anything he’s ever seen before, Bucky is obviously the happiest he’s been in a while.

He decides to take one of out Bucky’s book and snaps a quick picture before the other man sees it coming. Then, he sets it as his wallpaper and meets Bucky’s curious expression with an innocent smile.

“What?” he asks, slipping his phone back into his pocket ever so nonchalantly.

But Bucky has caught him, a fond smirk on display as he gently nudges Steve away. “Get outta here. That’s my job.” He makes this clear by producing his own phone from his pocket and holding it in position as a warning.

Steve pouts at him, holding the face until just before Bucky takes the picture when he changes it into a beaming smile. Bucky snaps the picture and Steve’s on him in an instant, wrestling the phone away from him (which Bucky lets him do, he’s under no illusions otherwise) and holding it out in front of both of them instead. “Smile!” He says, trying to get his arms out far enough to get both of them in the picture, secretly grateful when Bucky kind of crouches down and rests his chin on his shoulder.

He takes the picture, then another, and another, their smiles soon devolving into stupid faces. And then, for the last one, Steve presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s face.

(Bucky promptly steals back the phone to take a picture of him kissing Steve full on the mouth.)

And when he pulls back, smiles at Steve like he’s done something naughty but regrets nothing, Steve can’t even find it in himself to be mad. (It doesn’t hurt that the pictures are super cute either. And he’s suddenly very glad Bucky convinced him to get that upgraded phone.)

Steve flicks through the camera roll as Bucky leads them onwards, weaving between the throngs of people like the professional fair-goers they now are. They pass kid rides and food stands and finally, finally come to a stop in front of some kind of metal monstrosity that he really hopes Bucky just plans to look at. Because he doesn’t feel like dying today.

“Hope you’re ready to ride a little piece of history.”

And oh how fate can turn on you when you least expect it.

Bucky’s already launching into a hearty retelling of the first time he rode The Cyclone (so at least Steve now knows the the official name of his undoing), and how it’s a New York City landmark, and how he once timed how long it is from start to finish (one minute and fifty seconds). And Steve can tell just how worked up he’s getting because that Brooklyn tinge is returning to his words with full force. “It’s-a part-a me, Steve, ya know? God, I fuckin’ love this thing.”

And then before Steve can even offer his condolences, since they won’t be riding it and all, Bucky is taking his hand and all but sprinting toward the small ride entrance.

There’s a queue, though, so they’re made to wait about fifteen minutes. Fifteen agonizing minutes while Steve stares up at the clanging deathtrap and watches it inch closer and closer with Bucky practically vibrating beside him.

“You sure it’s safe, Buck?” He finally breaks down and asks. Because he’s not _scared,_ he’s just _worried._ For perfectly good reasons, too. Up to and including the trashcan located right outside the exit with a sign above that says, Please Keep Our Sidewalks Clean. (And he has a sinking suspicion that they aren’t talking about trash.)

Bucky bursts into hysterical laughter. That’s not exactly the answer Steve is looking for.

“Relax, Stevie.” And if he had a nickle for every time that phrase slipped out of Bucky’s mouth since they touched down in New York… “I’ll keep you safe.”

Steve rolls his eyes to tamp down the terror. “Please, like you could do anything if that thing sent us plummeting to our deaths. You’re a mechanic not a miracle worker.”

“I have experience almost plummeting to my death on carnival rides, don’t forget.”

“Fantastic.” Steve deadpans. “Then we’re both doomed.” And the words no sooner leave his mouth than the entrance gates open and the next group of people is let in, Bucky and Steve in their midst.

Bucky immediately grabs at Steve and hauls him to the nearest car, all but manhandling Steve into the seat in his excitement. But he settles down once they’re both in place, turns to Steve and checks to make sure everything’s ready to go. Steve still doesn’t feel much better about this whole experience, especially when the employee walks down the line of cars and checks their safety bar with nothing but a bored expression.

Then Bucky takes it upon himself to check that the lower the lap-bar is properly pulled down over their thighs, fondly patting Steve’s knee when everything seems to measure up to his standards. “Don’t wedge yourself into the seat like that,” he says, taking note of Steve’s awkward positioning, “You’re gonna throw your back out. And hold onto the bar if you’re freaked out. And most importantly…” There’s a dramatic pause that Steve does not appreciate at all. “If you’re gonna throw up, don’t do it on me.”

“Noted,” Steve says, looking the ride over with distaste. He wishes he’d at least had time to call his mother. Tell her he loves her. And to bury him far, far away from Bucky Barnes.

He spends the rest of the short period of waiting time taking deep breaths and trying to convince himself that it was going to be just like riding a horse through the woods at a sprint, fast and bumpy but ultimately something he could handle.

Sort of.

He’s trying not to think about the last time he’d ran a horse hard through the woods, fallen off, and broken his arm in three places. (Bucky’d smiled tightly, told him that’s what he got for having sticks for arms, and hadn’t let him near that particular stretch of the woods on horseback ever again.) So at least he knew if this ride mangled him in any way he’d be saved the torment of ever getting on one again. Silver lining.

The ride finally comes to life with a metallic clatter and Bucky nudges his shoulder with an excited, _‘Ready, Steve?’_ that Steve chooses to ignore. He has bigger problems at hand, because they’re immediately climbing and Steve knows for a fact and from personal experience that humans were never meant to be this high.

The ride stalls at the top of the hill then drops, sending them on a fast paced circuit of the track where Steve is tossed, turned, slammed into the unforgiving material of the car, and left white-knuckling the safety bar as it finally comes to a stop. Bucky’s been shouting like a maniac beside him the whole time but Steve’s pretty sure he hasn’t made a sound. In fact, he’s pretty sure his jaw is stuck in a clamped position from how hard he was biting down.

Bucky is still cackling, “Holy shit!” and then he’s grabbing at Steve’s shoulder and shaking him with a sort of excitement that Steve isn’t quite sure this situation calls for. “Well? Is that not the coolest shit ever?”

Steve decides not to deign that with an answer as they make their way off the ride, both because it’s a stupid question and because the contents of his stomach are currently trying to stage a mutiny and he doesn’t quite trust opening his mouth at the present time.

A fact that Bucky must notice because his laughter stops and he simply says, “Oh shit,” before hustling Steve to the trashcan just outside the door.

Another minute later Steve is seated on a bench at the edge of the pier, Bucky’s hand rubbing circles into his back with their bags at their feet, the life changing experience of seeing the ocean for the first time forever tainted by the light headed feeling he still hasn’t quite been able to shake.

He tips to the side to lean his head heavily on Bucky’s shoulder and groan, “I hate you.”

“Aw,” Bucky hums fondly, clearly not noting that there _is_ the slightest bit of truth behind Steve’s words, if only for this moment. But then Bucky shifts a bit and wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, bringing him closer. “I love you too.”

Steve just tries to focus on the grey ocean ahead of them and not the cold sweat still drying on his skin. “No more roller coasters,” he finally says, and he means that with every fiber of his being. “Ever.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky says. “For now.” And he’s clearly not up to date on the concept of _ever_.

But he does let Steve sit for a while, both of them just staring out over the pier with Steve leaning heavily into Bucky’s side to allow the familiar warmth to bring him back to life.

Then, when he finally feels sturdy enough to get up and walk around, he pulls back and says, “Alright, I think movement is safe again.” To prove his point, he stands and spins in a slow circle with his arms held wide, completing the full rotation only to find himself pulled into Bucky’s chest and lifted off the ground, Bucky’s arms crossed beneath his butt and holding him up.

He smacks Bucky on the top of the head. “I said I’m fine to walk, Buck. Don’t make me puke on you.”

Bucky just smiles up at him, chin resting on Steve’s chest. “Just let me fuss over you for a bit.”

“Buck,” Steve sighs. “Please? You can do something else, but I really don’t want to be off the ground right now.” And he is in fact aware of how pathetic he sounds but he’s honestly too wiped out to care.

Bucky seems to take pity though, because then he’s releasing his hold and setting Steve free. “Something else, huh? Like what?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms and looking in the other direction. He doesn’t want to see the smug, knowing look in Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t know what kind of motherly thoughts go on in that weird head of yours.”

“Not motherly at all, usually,” Bucky smiles, “But I can make an exception since you puked and everything.”

“I don’t need an exception,” Steve says back, narrowing his eyes and turning on his heel. “And you just lost  your fussing privileges. Now let’s go do a few more things so we can leave.”

Bucky’s probably rolling his eyes by now, not that Steve can see with his back turned like that. “Does that include showering you with love where everyone can see?”

“No,” Steve says grumpily. But beside the where everyone can see part, it actually doesn’t sound half bad.

“Well what if I _wanna_ shower you with love - let everyone know you’re mine?”

“Then you should’ve thought of that before making me go on that stupid ride.” Steve says, and he feels himself getting progressively grumpier as the seconds tick by without a response, until suddenly Bucky’s pressed up all along his back and strong arms are wrapping around his chest. (He melts into the hold faster than he’d ever like to admit.)

“You know I don’t like it when you’re _actually_ mad at me,” Bucky says before placing a kiss against Steve’s hair. “You big grump.”

“‘m not mad…” Steve grumbles. “Not my fault you’re a dick.”

“It’s just my natural charm. You love it, don’t lie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, patting Bucky’s arms a few times before pulling away. “Now can we please go get something to drink so I can get this taste out of my mouth? It’s really disgusting.”

Bucky laughs and slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder, saying an easy, ‘ _Sure, Stevie_ ’ before leading the way back to the stands. They get a Sprite that Steve nurses as they walk along.

“So,” he starts, eyeing the different rides around them with a newfound sense of trepidation. “Anything in particular you’re dying to go on before we leave?”

“Anything but the bumper cars,” Bucky offers with a chuckle that doesn’t mask his sincerity as much as he probably thinks.

Which is...intriguing to say the least. “Why? What’s wrong with the bumper cars?”

His answer is quick, but not quick enough. “I dunno, they’re...just dumb, I guess.” But that can’t possibly be the answer, because The Cyclone was dumb. And Steve’s not sure how these bumper cars could possibly compare to that monstrosity.

He thinks he might need to investigate this further. “But what if I want to try the bumper cars?” He can tell that Bucky is about to say something snarky back so he cuts him off, “And you got to pick the last ride, so it’s only fair I could to choose this one. Especially since you nearly killed me.”

The uncertain scowl that Bucky presents him with does nothing but fuel Steve’s intrigue. “S’probably not something you’re gonna be into, Steve. I’m just telling you that now.” (But what Steve gleans from that sentence is: _You’re going to like it so much that you’re going to run me the fuck over and I might be a little nervous about getting severe whiplash from you._ )

“I’ll take my chances.” Steve says coolly, throwing his drink away in the trash and turning back to look at Bucky expectantly. “So lead the way.”

There’s a moment where Bucky doesn’t move an inch, seemingly still considering how to weasel his way out of this situation. But Steve’s not going to let that happen. Oh no. So he stands his ground as well, squaring off with Bucky as they lock eyes for what feels like forever until slowly, Bucky’s shoulders sag and he’s rolling his eyes, groaning as he begins to lead the way.

And the bumper cars are _glorious._ They’re loud and heavy and make a really satisfying banging noise when you hit another person, a noise which Steve hears a countless number of times during their round as he chases Bucky around the arena and slams him into walls and other drivers repeatedly. He starts getting looks after a while but when he explains, _‘He’s my boyfriend-- made me puke on The Cyclone’_ he soon has an entire army herding Bucky towards his bumper car of death.

By the time they make it out, Steve feels like he’s exacted his revenge and happily takes Bucky’s hand and threads their fingers together, going up on his toes to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek as his newly made friends cheer behind them. Bucky doesn’t look nearly as enthused as Steve feels. “Okay, Buck.” He says, “You can pick the next ride.”

Bucky offers nothing but an highly unamused grumble, bringing a hand up to crack his neck. But he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand, so he figures he can’t be in too much trouble.

(Not that he could ever really _be_ in trouble considering everything was Bucky’s fault to begin with.)

They end up going on something called the Brooklyn Flyer next, because it has the height Bucky loves but the slow moving circles are something Steve’s stomach can handle. And it has Brooklyn in the name so it was pretty much guaranteed that they had to ride it. They hit a few smaller rides and wander around before Steve brings them to a stop, pointing at something that looks straight out of Alice in Wonderland and is swamped with small children. But Steve wants to do it, so he forces Bucky into one of the brightly colored teacups, laughing and taking as many pictures as possible of Bucky squashed into the little plastic bench seat.

Then it’s dark and they’re on their last ride, high up in the sky on the ferris wheel because neither of them had forgotten the first in a series of many failed moments, and it seemed only right to take a tradition they had kept each year at the fair and bring it to Bucky’s home in Brooklyn.

Steve is tucked neatly into the space below Bucky’s arm and against his side, the gradually softening noises of the people below and the metal working around them breaking up the silence. He leans his head into Bucky’s chest and takes a deep breath, ridiculously happy to be here despite all the bumps along the way.

“Brings back lots of memories, huh Buck?” he murmurs quietly.

“Sure does, Stevie,” Bucky sighs, breathing in the Brooklyn air, “Been a while since that night.” He squeezes Steve against him softly.

Steve hums in agreement then can’t help but ask, “You gonna fall out of your seat again? Because I’m pretty sure this goes a lot higher than the one at the fair.”

“Never gonna let me live that one down, are ya, punk?”

“Wouldn’t be right if I did, jerk.” Steve smirks, “My sass is half the reason you keep me around.”

“True…” Bucky’s turning to look at him now, smile just this side of sly. “Know what the other half is?”

Steve swallows softly and his eyes flicker down to Bucky’s lips then back up to his face. “Got a pretty good idea...”

And this time, when their lips meet, nothing goes awry. Bucky leans in and Steve’s eyes flutter shut and their mouths come together like they have a thousand times before. But it’s somehow just that little bit more special, with the perfectly timed fireworks going off in the distance and the ferris wheel car swaying beneath them, that memory of five years ago fresh in both their minds.

Steve shifts a little in his seat to get a better angle and Bucky slips a hand back behind his waist, sliding his fingers into Steve’s back pocket to help keep him in place as his tongue glides against Steve’s lower lip. And Steve can’t help the way he groans softly into Bucky’s mouth.

“Buck…” he whispers. “Shit, we’re in public…”

“Just reminding you of ,” Bucky grins between kisses, “another half of the reason I keep you around.” And although that doesn’t even make any sense - because that’s now three halves altogether - Steve can’t bring himself to care.

He just leans back in and ghosts his lips against Bucky’s mouth, murmurs a teasing, ‘ _Classy’_ before tipping his chin up and bringing them back together again. And this time, when Bucky’s tongue glides against his lip, Steve just parts his mouth to take it, hums softly in the back of his throat and leans into the palm still cupping the back of his ass.

And if they get a few knowing looks when they finally climb out of the car, hair mussed and lips flushed red, then so be it. Because Bucky’s hand is in his and The Cyclone is far behind them and Steve’s starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Brooklyn isn’t such a terrible place after all.

 

\---+---


	7. Trading Stars for City Lights

 

** Chapter Six: **

 

It’s one of those nights that Bucky doesn’t want to end. But not in a _no man let’s keep partying_ way. It’s definitely not that. It’s more of a consistent pull that he feels as the hours pass by and Steve feels heavier in his arms and it’s clearer and clearer to him that he’s made the right choice - that Steve is _it_ \- that Steve is _everything_ and he doesn’t want this night to end.

So he takes him home, takes him to the roof, takes him higher than Steve has probably ever gone in his entire life. And in that moment, it’s so painfully clear that he needs Steve. Needs him like the sun on his skin and the Brooklyn air in his lungs. Needs him like...well, he’s never needed something this much in his life.

So that’s why he takes him up here, high above the city but somehow still right smack dab in the middle of it. And this is where Bucky feels everything fuse together right in front of him. This is where he sees Steve against the backdrop of the city, and it’s gorgeous and makes his chest hurt but it’s worth it. Because this is his two worlds - both of which he’s come to love - colliding. And for the first time, Bucky isn’t aching to be somewhere else. This is exactly where he wants to be.

“Can’t see the stars too well…” he says, and he doesn’t even sound like himself, but that’s okay. “Thought you’d enjoy the lights from the city, though.”

“Yeah…” Steve murmurs, and he sounds kind of different too, like he’s somewhere far away. So Bucky reaches out and holds him that much closer, picking his hands up off the rooftop and wrapping his arms around Steve’s stomach. And Steve leans into it, until his head is resting against Bucky’s cheek. “They’re real pretty, Buck. Just weird to think that it’s the same sky we see in Pikesville every night...”

And that’s...kind of mindblowing. Bucky’s not sure why he hasn’t realized it sooner - that  before he even knew who the hell Steve was, they were looking up at the same sky - the same stars. “Yeah...pretty crazy…”

The wind picks up, cool as it whips between buildings and finally graces their skin. And suddenly, Bucky’s lost in his own head. Because what did he even _do_ before Steve? What did he have? He had Brooklyn, sure - he’s always had that. But what does all of this fucking amazing stuff that Brooklyn has to offer mean if you’re not sharing it with someone you think the world of?

God...now he’s getting sappy.

Bucky sighs, grateful that Steve can’t hear all the sap buzzing around in his head. If he could, Bucky’d never hear the end of it.

“So tell me, Steve,” he decides to say, pulling himself from his thoughts before things get truly weepy up there. “What’s your favorite part about Brooklyn so far?”

Steve is silent for a long time, just staring out into the night while his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. Then, finally, he takes a breath and says, “If I say, are you gonna be a dick about it?”

That brings a smile to Bucky’s face, the consistent sass the man in his arms provides sounding like music to his ears. “Nope. Promise.”

Steve seems to weigh his words for a moment, then lifts a hand to start tracing patterns in the skin of Bucky’s arm. “Then, it’s probably just been seeing you so happy.” He trails his fingers down to Bucky’s hand and starts playing with his fingers. “Because I know you don’t mind staying in Pikesville with me, but you love it here, Buck. You’ve always said you did, just...seeing it is another thing entirely.”

Steve’s words cling to Bucky’s heart like they intend to stay - like it’s all he’s wanted to hear for four days now. And now that they’re finally being said, he’s at a loss for how to respond. Because knowing that Steve looks at him the way he looks at Steve is indescribable.

“That doesn’t count,” Bucky grins, although he’d be heartbroken if Steve had said anything less. “But now you know how I felt that first summer.” He squeezes Steve closer, which should be impossible but he finds a way. (Steve doesn’t seem to mind too much either, just nuzzles back into him with a contented sound in the back of his throat.) And before Bucky can stop himself, he’s sighing and nearly whispering: “You know I love you to death, right?”

And Steve sucks in a breath, tightening slightly in Bucky’s arms before falling completely into his chest, hands coming up to clutch at Bucky’s arms like a lifeline. “Buck…” He whispers back, sounding as scared to hear it as Bucky was to say it.

“Jesus.” Bucky’s quick to backpedal, “Sorry, that was--”

“No,” Steve cuts him off, voice soft but strong. “No, Buck, that’s not what I meant, I-” He grips tighter to Bucky’s arms and says, “I love you to death too... so much it hurts sometimes.”

And if they said this kind of stuff to each other more often, not the joking _Love you_ ’s or the teasing _but that’s why you love me_ , Bucky would be more prepared. But they don’t. Because this is nothing like their usual back-and-forth. This is real and from the heart and a little difficult to cope with given how strongly Bucky feels it in his very core.

So he rests his chin on the top of Steve’s head, eyes dancing lazily over the the lights before them. “I know I give you a lot of shit,” he mumbles, just loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of the city, “but I _am_ glad I met you.” And that’s extremely mushy too. But Bucky can’t help himself. “Like...really fucking glad…”

“Yeah, well, you might be a jerk of a city-slicker but I’m really fucking glad I met you too.” And even though that line sounded suspiciously similar to Steve’s usual snark, his voice cracked too many times for Bucky not to realize Steve’s just as worked up about this as he is. “I don’t even know what I’d do without you anymore. I don’t-” He breaks off at that, then turns and buries his face in Bucky’s neck. “I’m glad you didn’t leave me.”

Bucky’s eyes drift shut, silent as Steve nuzzles against him.

As if he ever could have left him…

As if he had considered, for even one moment, picking up and leaving Pikesville, leaving _Steve_ behind. He still doesn’t understand how that was even a thought in Steve’s mind back then.

So, because he figures he might as well top it all off with the sappiest thing that his heart has to offer, Bucky says, “Never gonna leave you, Stevie.”

And without missing a beat, Steve murmurs back, “Because you love me more than Brooklyn.”

Bucky’s heart gives way then, this incredible swirl of deep emotion that he wasn’t expecting tonight washing over him. It’s true. It’s as true as the first time he said it. But somehow hearing it from _Steve’s_ mouth, knowing that Steve actually believes it...it’s more than Bucky can comprehend. “Steve,” Bucky says, voice barely a whisper now, “...can I kiss you?”

“We kiss all the time, Buck.” Steve says, soft and fragile like he hardly ever is. “You don’t need to ask.”

But that’s...“No, I mean-” His voice wavers, heart threatening to spill over in his chest, but there’s nothing in the world that can stop him from continuing when he wants this as badly as he does. “Can I _kiss_ you?”

And Steve seems to get it, because he turns his head and looks up at Bucky with these wide blue eyes like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Then his hand’s coming up to curl fingers behind Bucky’s ear and his eyelids are drifting shut and Bucky doesn’t know who closes the final distance but his lips have found Steve’s and they’re _kissing._ It’s the barest of touches, neither of them moving, just keeping the soft point of contact and breathing each others air.

And Bucky can’t quite believe what’s happening either.

Over the course of the next half hour they end up lying on the ground, one of Bucky’s arms cradling Steve’s head from the ground and the rest of him a protective barrier against the outside world. Steve is warm and small beneath him and everything just feels _right._

And honestly, if they just stayed like this for the rest of the trip, that’d be fine by Bucky. Because Brooklyn will always be here. Everything that he knows and loves from his hometown will always stay the same. But Steve...he wants to be there for every change in his life. Every development - no matter how life-changing or unimportant. And Bucky - he’s never felt that before. And it’s kind of overwhelming and it’s pretty terrifying, but he’s glad that it’s Steve who’s making him feel this way.

Steve, who’s currently working his arms underneath Bucky’s shirt to get at the skin beneath the fabric, his hands cold against Bucky’s bare back.

“Want something, Stevie?” Bucky mumbles lowly, not taking his lips from Steve’s and instead just letting the words fall into the nonexistent space between them. And Steve fucking _whines_ into his mouth, scratching his nails into Bucky’s skin and yeah, okay, “Shit Steve,” he laughs quietly. “Didn’t say I wasn’t gonna give it to you.”

He uses his free hand to tug his shirt a bit further up his chest just to prove his point, helps get Steve’s arm further beneath the worn fabric. Then he bends down and presses their lips harder together, feeling the push of Steve’s head against his arm as he takes his hand and starts working on the material tucked into the waistband of Steve’s pants.

And really? Who the fuck tucks in their shirts anymore? His Steve, apparently, that’s who.

“Buck…” Steve whispers tightly, back arching off the ground as Bucky finally gets the fabric free and slides one hand up over the bare skin of Steve’s stomach, feeling thin muscles contract beneath his palm.

Bucky kisses him again, firm and solid, and splays his fingers out over Steve’s side, holding him down and stroking at his ribs with his thumb. “‘m here, Steve. ‘m here and I’m not ever gonna leave you.”

Because Steve feels like heaven, all soft and warm and smooth beneath his hands and Bucky never knew you could be this close to a person with just a kiss. It’s amazing and mind blowing and so many things he never even knew to want.

So of course he’s never going to leave. Because Steve is _everything_ to him and if he could he’d fucking absorb Steve into himself just so he wouldn’t have to go a single second without having him by his side.

One of Steve’s hands has made it’s way out of Bucky’s shirt and to his hair instead, thin fingers threading through the strands and holding him close. There’s passion and feeling and so much _love_ in this moment and Bucky kind of just wants to cry when Steve whispers against his lips, “Know you aren’t, Buck.” Then he pulls Bucky back enough to look in his eyes. “Like I’d ever let you.”

Then he gets this real serious look on his face, bites his bottom lip between his teeth and looks up at Bucky beneath his lashes, beneath the milky stars and the hazy Brooklyn skyline. “I’d follow you anywhere, you know that? Even if it meant leaving home.”

And...that…that right there is enough to have Bucky’s head hanging down to rest on Steve’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut to try and hold back the rush of feelings that just swept over him like a tsunami. “ _Fuck_ Steve,” he finally says, pulling back to meet Steve’s eyes again. “You’d really...You’d leave Pikesville?”

And Steve just nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world. (Bucky doesn’t know how it’s possible, but just like that he’s falling in love all over again.)

 

\---+---


	8. Going Out

 

** Chapter Seven: **

 

They stay on the roof for most of the night, content in the cocoon they’ve made for themselves. But eventually the temperatures drop and Bucky insists they call it a night - even if it _is_ almost 4a.m anyway. But Steve has never needed much sleep anyway, his internal clock waking him at the crack of dawn regardless of when he went to bed the night before.

So the fact that he’s awake, reading at the kitchen table as the sun rises, is not exactly a surprise.

What _does_ come as a surprise is the faint beeping of Bucky’s alarm ringing out from behind their closed door. And what he _certainly_ doesn’t expect is for Bucky to come trudging into the kitchen, hair a mess and eyes still half shut as he shuffles over to where Steve is currently sitting in confusion.

“Buck?”

But then Steve is being scooped up (a task he didn’t realize Bucky was capable of carrying out while half asleep) and carried back into the bedroom without even so much as a grumble from Bucky.

Which is...odd. Steve half wonders if maybe Bucky isn’t sleepwalking, in some kind of dream. That’s really the only explanation as to why he’d be willingly moving around so early in the morning. But then again his alarm _had_ gone off...and that just made no sense at all.

“Go back-ta sleep…” Bucky mumbles lazily, voice like gravel as he dumps Steve back into bed and then climbs over his body, collapsing back down next to him with a huff.

Steve looks at him for a moment, then looks back at the clock, then out into the kitchen through the still open door. If he just waits long enough for Bucky to fall back asleep, he can go back to his book.

But Bucky can apparently read his mind because it’s right in that moment that he lets out a groan and flops an arm over Steve, using it to tow him into the curve of his chest and lock him tightly into place. “Stay,” he says into the hair at the top of Steve’s head. And with the way Bucky throws a thigh over both of Steve’s legs, he doesn’t really see how he has much of a choice.

Which is why, when Steve wakes up an untold number of hours later, it’s to the mid-afternoon sun shining in through the curtains, casting a glare of light onto the pillows. Steve blinks owlishly into the room, unsure of his surroundings for a moment, then he looks at the clock and sees the numbers there.

It’s nearly three o’clock.

It’s  nearly _three o’clock_ and he is still in bed.

Bucky’s limbs are still wrapped around him like a vice so Steve has to squirm to even sit up, immediately taking his hand and shaking Bucky’s shoulder with it. “Buck,” he says, voice startlingly loud in the silent apartment. “Buck you need to get up, we overslept.”

But Bucky is in no hurry, eyes finally drifting open. “Mm...” is his initial response, which simply won’t do. Luckily, it’s quickly followed up with, “Overslept?” Then he lets out an outrageous groan as he stretches, keeping one arm draped over Steve’s body. “Can’t oversleep if you don’t have plans to be late for.”

“We practically slept the day away,” Steve says, trying to extricate himself from Bucky’s grip but not really getting anywhere. “That’s oversleeping. We missed breakfast, and lunch for that matter. Your mother probably thinks I’m a slob.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky groans again, this time straight into Steve’s ear. “She’s used to this shit from me.”

“Yeah, and _you’re_ a slob. _I_ have a reputation to uphold.” He gives another shove to Bucky’s arm, twisting his body at the same time and kicking with his legs until he finally breaks free, rolling away from Bucky and off the side of the bed with a _thump._ And he just stays there for a moment, knows he’s going to hear it from Bucky as soon as he resurfaces.

“Graceful…” Bucky snorts, now slowly rising, one step at a time. As of the moment, he’s gotten as far as sitting up, which is...not nearly enough progress as Steve’s really looking for.

So he proceeds to tactic one for getting Bucky out of bed: steal the covers.

He saunters nonchalantly to the end of the bed before grabbing at the duvet and yanking, pulling the fabric away from Bucky’s body before he has a chance to grab at it.

It’s not as satisfying as after their first night together, but it certainly paints a pretty picture: Bucky all rumpled and disheveled on the bed.

“Steeeve,” Bucky moans. But it’s already the middle of the afternoon, so he has no excuse to actually be tired.

“Nope, c’mon, time to get up.” He says, “The streets of Brooklyn are calling.”

Then, like some kind of weird cosmic experience, Bucky’s phone starts buzzing on the bedside table. They both just kind of stare at for a moment, not believing what’s happening, before Bucky leans over and picks it up with laughter in his voice.

“Hello? Streets of Brooklyn?”

Steve rolls his eyes but Bucky’s too busy listening to whoever’s on the other end.

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. Inside joke. What’s up?”

Deciding Bucky is as up as he’s going to be for the moment, Steve heads over to the dresser to pick out some clothes for the day.

“No, no plans for tonight. Why?...Yeah, I could probably…”

Steve pulls out one of his plain white undershirts to start, giving it a shake to unfold it before throwing it over his shoulder. Then he picks out his jeans.

“Mhm, he’s right here, actually, I could-... Yeah, I’ll ask him.”

He looks back over his shoulder with a single eyebrow raised to see Bucky holding one hand over the receiver, eyes fixed on Steve with a certain intense deliberation that Steve isn’t sure what to think of. He straightens up and tries to ignore the fact he’s currently only wearing a pair of lavender boxers. “Yes?”

“You wanna go out with me and my friends tonight?” Bucky asks, the workings of a mischievous smirk already in play.

Steve furrows his brow. That’s...not was he’d been expecting. “Go out…” He echoes, “I don’t…”

And Bucky must not realize that _his_ “go out” is most likely not the same thing as _Steve’s_ “go out”, because he just stares at him, expecting an answer at the drop of a hat, which is not exactly something Steve’s capable of doing without first given a better definition.

But, apparently, Bucky doesn’t even really need an answer because he just looks at Steve for a second more before taking his hand away from the phone and telling the person on the other line, “Yeah, we’ll be there….Uh huh...See you later.” Then he shuts off the screen and tosses his phone back onto the nightstand.

“So guess we’ve got plans then?” Steve asks, turning back around to resume getting dressed.

“Yes we do.” Bucky seems entirely too happy about it, the sudden promise of “going out” enough to pry him from his bed with an amused little hop. It’d probably be cute if Steve had any idea what was going on.

“And do I get to know where, exactly, we’re ‘going out’ to?” He asks, pulling on his shirt and reaching for his jeans.

Bucky looks back at him, face fixed with a mischief that has Steve’s dread returning in full force. “ _Out_.” He says. Like that answers every question that Steve will ever have on the matter.

It doesn’t.

“Out _where_?” Steve presses. “Do I need to dress nice? Because I didn’t bring any good clothes. I don’t think I even brought a tie…” He does a mental check of everything he packed, and nope, no tie for him or Bucky. Hopefully that won’t be an issue.

Then Bucky laughs at him, muttering “Tie…” like the entire notion is a ridiculous one. He slips into the jeans that are still crumpled on the floor from yesterday, glancing up at him in the process. “It’s a surprise, pal.”

And really, Steve’s should’ve seen it coming. That phrase has practically been the kiss of death for them for as long as Steve can remember, it’s the bell toll that ushers in an untold amount of trouble for whoever’s on the receiving end.

So, like he said, he really should’ve seen it coming then, and if not then he _certainly_ should’ve seen it coming a few hours later when Bucky pulled him back into their room because they had to get changed. No ties, and no button-ups allowed either. In fact, Bucky had told him to wear just a plain white undershirt, tucked into his tightest jeans with a pair of dark brown suspenders and boots.

He didn’t feel dressed to go out in any way shape or form, but Bucky had given him the stamp of approval then gone off to dress himself for the night, reemerging in a tight black shirt, dark wash jeans, and a dark pair of combat boots (the only kind of boots Bucky ever wore). And with their carefully selected clothes on, Bucky had led the way out the door, answering every one of Steve’s questions with: _It’s a surprise._

And yeah, it was a fucking surprise all right.

Nothing could have prepared Steve for the moment he walked through those double doors, met with the distinct smell of what he assumes is a heavy mixture of cologne and alcohol. Not that he can see where he’s going very well to figure it out, because the entire room is so dimly lit that the only light source is flashing colorful lights near a sea of people and a few strategically placed lamps that hang from the ceiling. And even those aren’t very bright. Don’t these people know it’s dark outside? (Should be, since it’s _11:30_ and he and Bucky are just finally arriving. But that’s another story altogether…)

Steve can’t help the tiny bundle of nerves that make their presence known as Bucky pulls him through the mass of people, who have congregated by the door, apparently in the throes of a heated argument. The farther Steve’s dragged in, the more he comes to realize that the crowd doesn’t seem to be thinning. The entire building is swarming with bodies.

It’s like the subway all over again but a thousand times worse, because here the people are _moving,_ jumping around and dancing (at least that’s what he assumes it is) all over each other. And the music’s so loud he can hardly think, the beat’s rattling in his bones and he’s pretty sure he can already feel a headache coming on.

“Bucky!” He finally shouts, trying to be heard over all the noise. “Bucky, what’re we doing here!”

But wow, Bucky sure seems to be in his element, eyes wild with a particular glint of eagerness that Steve hasn’t exactly seen before. “Gonna show you to my friends!”

“Your friends are here?” He asks incredulously. Because if that’s the case, he’s not so sure about this introduction… Because like hell is he going to be drinking or joining the mass of bodies moving disturbingly close to each other on the main floor.

Bucky must not be on the same page, because he’s pulling Steve further and further in without care. “Hell yeah--want them to meet you,” he grins with a considerable amount of what Steve notices as pride.

“But why’re we meeting _here_?” Steve asks, trying to stay as close to Bucky as possible as they weave their way along. “We won’t even be able to hear each other.”

“‘Cause this is my shit, Steve,” Bucky says, articulating his point with an animated gesture around the room. And yes, this definitely seems like his element. “I was eventually gonna bring you here, anyway. _Two birds_ and all that bullshit.”

And Steve doesn’t know if he should find that comforting --in that Bucky hadn’t planned to take him here to meet his friends in the first place; or if he should be vaguely horrified --in that this had been one of the stops on Bucky’s grand tour through Brooklyn. Because Steve already doesn’t like it here. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s already ready to leave.

When they finally end up by one of the tables in the corner where Bucky’s friends are waiting, the music is just a touch quieter, but Steve is grateful for it.

Even if that means he can hear the way Bucky is gushing, presenting Steve to his friends like he’s showing a prize-winning horse at the fair. And while it’s beyond endearing, hearing Bucky go off about all the little things that he thinks that Steve doesn’t even realize he does, it’s also extremely embarrassing and uncomfortable. Because Steve doesn’t even know who the hell these people are. Why does Bucky feel the need to parade him around when he’s obviously already uncomfortable with the situation as it is?

But that seems to be a theme so far this week, so Steve just heaves a sigh and plasters a smile on his face. He’ll meet Bucky’s friends, play nice for awhile, then he’s leaving whether Bucky’s comes with him or not.

Most of his friends are either drunk or quickly on their way anyway, so Steve doubts they’re retaining too much personal information that Bucky seems comfortable enough to offer. (He’ll have words with Bucky later.)

“Alright, your first drink in Brooklyn...” Bucky , pulling Steve from his thoughts as he taps out an excited beat on the table. “What’s it gonna be, Steve? You say the word, it’s yours.”

When Steve doesn’t offer an immediate response, because, how the hell should _he_ know, Bucky provides a helping hand. “Are you aiming for something fruity or something that’ll knock you on your ass right away?”

Steve narrows his eyes, not liking those options at all. “I’ll just have a beer.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, clearly disappointed. “Augh...fuck _that_. You have enough beer in Pikesville.” Then he’s looking away, head bobbing as he ducks around people’s arms until he produces a thin black book from the far side of the table. “Live a little, pal.”

Steve takes the book with an unimpressed frown, opening it and glancing through the small, glossy pages. It’s a drink menu. And it’d be great if there was any light in here at all, so Steve could actually _read_ the drink menu. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” he says, figuring even if Bucky’s drinking something terrible he can just sip at it then dump it somewhere when Bucky isn’t looking.

Bucky seems wary, head tilting in a touch of concern. “You ever had rum before, Stevie?”

“Nope,” Steve shrugs. “First time for everything.” He tosses the drink menu back on the table, closing the argument.

Bucky shrugs, but not before one more quick glance-over. Then he taps the table again, says, “Be right back,” and is disappearing before Steve can come to grasps with the fact that he’s being left alone. With Bucky’s drunk friends.

“Barnes talks about you all the fuckin’ time, ya know…” A particularly inebriated one slurs, leaning over the table to make sure Steve knows he’s being talked to.

Steve knows.

“He tends to go on about the things he likes.” Steve shrugs. “I’ve heard enough about Brooklyn to fill a library.”

That pulls a laugh out of the entire group, more or less a consensus that yes, Bucky never shuts up. Period.

“Won’t shut up about your ass--” the guy says before an immediate elbow nudge from the woman next to him leaves him speechless. For the moment. He glances at her with an over dramatic look of shock. “What? What’d I do?”

“Don’t be a prick,” she warns, and then that seems to be the end of _that_ particular conversation.

Steve just purses his lips, choosing to not even acknowledge that comment.

He doesn’t have to either, because then Bucky is returning to the table, a drink in each hand.

“One rum-and-coke for me,” he says cheerfully, then holds the other glass out, “And one rum-runner for Steve.” He then adds, “Because halfway through ordering I figured you’d probably want something sweet, and because I’m a nice fucking boyfriend like that.”

Steve takes the ridiculously brightly colored drink Bucky hands him and eyes it with distaste, positive that anything with that frightening shade of red and even more frightening alcohol content was never meant to be consumed. “Thanks,” he says without feeling, setting the thing down on the table and scooting over a bit so Bucky can sit.

The thing about clubs, Steve realizes far too soon, is that as it gets later and later, more people shuffle into the already cramped space. That means more chatter, and more chatter means the music gets turned up more. And that means that by the third staged sip of Steve’s drink, Bucky and his friends are _yelling_. Jumping up in a fit of excitement. Nearly crawling all over each other as stories get scandalous and everything gets to the point where it’s so obnoxious that Steve doesn’t even know if they’re using real words anymore.

And Steve just sits there, and sits there, not really participating in the conversation at all because they’re not even speaking the same language anymore. Bucky turns to him every now and again to check in and Steve gives him a forced smile, touches his lips to the straw and pretends to drink, using the excitement in Bucky’s eyes to keep him going for the next five minutes until Bucky looks back at him again. Because that’s the only reason why he’s here anymore, the fact that Bucky’s obviously having so much fun.

But there’s only so much Steve can take and after another hour of suffering, he’s starting to plan his great escape, something that will get him out those doors and back to the apartment but keep Bucky happy and with his friends. (A nice thought, but nearly impossible to actually come up with, Steve soon figures out.)

That’s when he can feel Bucky’s eyes graze over his drink - silently scrutinizing. Steve is sure he’s about to get some sort of shit about barely touching it, but then Bucky says something to the friend he’s currently speaking with and ducks away from the table.

And then Steve’s alone with Bucky’s friends.

Again.

They stare at him for a moment, obviously unsure of what to do with this strange, silent creature in their midst, until one of them gets the bright idea, “Hey, we haven’t even danced yet! You like dancing, Steve?”

And yes, Steve actually does enjoy dancing. But what’s going on out on that floor is _nothing_ Steve would consider taking part in. It’s more like sex with clothes on than anything Steve’s ever seen.

But no one else seems to share his reservations, because they’re all cheering and pushing out of the booth and when Steve gives them a tight smile and says _‘I’ll wait for Bucky, thanks though’_ they all just laugh and coo then continue on their way. So now Steve is alone _without_ Bucky’s friends, sitting at a booth in the back of a club in Brooklyn.

Which is just great. Peachy, really, exactly what Steve wanted to get out of this evening.

The one saving grace about a club like this (apparently) is that there’s always something to watch - always some sort of drama happening in the general vicinity.

The bad part, Steve realizes now as he’s suddenly approached by a man who might possibly be taller and stronger than even Bucky, is that it’s equally easy for drama to come find you.

“You come here alone?” The guy asks.

Steve looks up at him and lifts an eyebrow. “No?” And how is that even an appropriate question? “I didn’t, actually. Can I help you?”

The man gives him a lingering once-over that has Steve’s skin crawling then puts his arm on the back of the booth and leans in, not seeming to care that Steve leans back as he does so. “Maybe you _can_ help me… Wanna get out of here?”

And _oh._ So _that’s_ what’s happening right now.

“No, thanks.” He says, straightening up and setting his jaw just in case things go south. “I’m actually here with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” The man sneers. “Some kind of boyfriend to leave a pretty thing like you all by yourself.”

Steve bristles at the comment. “Excuse you?” Steve glares, because if there’s one thing he hates more than anything in the world it’s when someone other than Bucky calls him _pretty_. “What did you just say to me?” His hands clench into fists and he turns slightly in his seat, ready to swing should this bastard try to pull something slick.

A hand brushes against his thigh and he brings his arm back to land a punch.

But he doesn’t have to, because just as the man opens his mouth to say something else, a hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around. “Can I help you?” Steve hears, Bucky’s familiar voice twisted into a snarl.

(And Steve’s suddenly very glad that he’s not the one in Bucky’s bad graces.)

The man, however, seems not to hear the murder in Bucky’s tone because he shoots back, “And you must be the boyfriend? Fuck, you’re both just fucking pansies. _‘Can I help you?’_ ” He mocks. “Yeah, you can get your fucking hands off of me.”

But that’s the absolute last thing that Bucky does. In fact, he pulls the guy up from where he’s pressed way too close to Steve and then shoves him clear over to the other side of the table, his tone dripping with venom. “He told you to fuck off, did he not?”

The man scoffs. “You need to get your ears checked, jackass. Your little boy toy never once asked me to leave.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow dangerously but before he can say anything else Steve stands and makes his way over to them, taking his place at Bucky’s side and saying, “Well I’m saying it now. _Fuck. Off._ ”

Bucky lifts his eyebrows and smirks. “Well there you go, fucking gold trim invitation and everything.”

And the man glares at Steve, then Bucky, grumbling something under his breath before spitting a last, “Don’t want your sloppy seconds anyways,” before disappearing back into the club.

Bucky turns to Steve, puts both hands on his shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. “He do anything to you, Steve? Tell me right now, did he do anything to you?”

“No,” Steve answers, “He was just being a dick, was about to punch him for touching my thigh when you showed up.”

All that does is fuel the fire already blazing in Bucky’s eyes. “ _What?_ ” he snaps, “He fucking _touched_ you?”

“It wasn’t a big deal, Buck.” Steve says, trying to get him to calm down. “I was handling it.”

“Yes, it _is_ a big fucking deal. No one fucking touches you without you saying so.”

Steve feels himself getting even more worked up with the way Bucky’s acting. Why can’t he just leave it alone? “That’s why I was about to _punch him in the face._ I told you I was handling it _._ ”

Bucky stares at him like he’s trying to reach the truth that Steve is already giving him. Like he needs more convincing than this, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve says, “It’s over. I’m fine. You got here before anything could happen.” He pats Bucky’s arm then rolls his eyes. “Even though nothing _would’ve_ happened because like I keeping saying, _I was han--_ ”

But then Bucky is reeling forward, pressing up against Steve and crashing their lips together like he needs it or he’s going to explode. Like he needs to have this moment right now and to have his hands in Steve’s hair, even if it’s not exactly the best timing. Like he just _needs_ this.

And Steve gives it to him, for a little while at least, before leaning away and shaking his head. “You’re like a dog, Buck, so territorial. Wanna just pee on me while you’re at it?”

Bucky mumbles something that Steve can’t hear over the ridiculous music, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair, another hand coming to rest on the small of his back and pull him closer.

Steve sighs and lets himself be reeled in, wraps his arms around Bucky’s back. “You need to speak up,” He says. “But if you’re just going to lecture me, I don’t even want to hear it.”

“Not lecturing.” That one, Steve can hear, “Just really fucking glad you’re mine.” And then he’s leaning back in, pressing his mouth to Steve’s again, like they’ve done so many times. Except this is distinctly protective.

And, surprising to even himself, Steve is more than okay with this side of Bucky. He’s used to Bucky hovering over him when he’s climbing on things or crawling around under heavy machinery, holding him close during asthma attacks and just generally insisting that Steve be as safe as he can possibly be, but they’ve never had to deal with something like this before. He’s never experienced Bucky’s protective side in relation to Steve being touched by another man.

And it’s...not quite what Steve was expecting. In a good way.

Because right now Steve feels _wanted._ He feels loved and protected and safe without even having to ask for it.

“Sorry I bailed…” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s lips, and there’s true sincerity there. “In my defense, I was getting water for you…”

But Steve just shakes his head. “‘m not mad at you, Buck.” He presses a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips then nudges his shoulder. “C’mon, don’t be stupid, there’s no way you could’ve known.”

There’s another moment where Bucky’s muttering too softly to pick up, but then Steve is greeted with the familiar pull of Bucky’s fingers against the straps of his suspenders, then the way Bucky nips at Steve’s bottom lip and gently drags it between his teeth.

Steve knows those moves. They can only mean one thing.

“Maybe we should head home, Buck.”

Bucky looks at him with an unnecessary amount of confusion.

“He touched my _thigh_ , Bucky.” Steve says slowly. “Thought you’d want to stake your claim there, too.”

“That’s not funny,” Bucky frowns, but then lets the straps snap back against Steve’s chest with the beginnings of a smirk.

“Didn’t say it was,” Steve grins back, leaning up to press one last kiss to Bucky’s mouth, sliding his tongue teasingly along the seam of Bucky’s lips as he pulls away. “Just thought I’d give you the opportunity. But, if you’re not interested…”

Bucky doesn’t even answer - doesn’t need to. Just steals one more kiss and then laces his fingers with Steve’s, leading them out from the back of the club.

Steve follows him through the crowds and out the doors, then finally thinks to ask, “What about your friends?”

“They’ve seen you now,” Bucky answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “They know what I’m workin’ with.”

And that’s that.

Steve doesn’t ask anymore questions as they make their way back to the apartment, doesn’t complain with how Bucky practically carries him to the cab or keeps him basically shoved into the opening of his jacket. (He does say something when Bucky starts glaring at everyone who so much as gives them a glance.) But besides that he’s just along for the ride, held tight in Bucky’s arms as the cab pulls up to their street.

And if the following morning, Bucky’s eyes are glued to his marked up thighs as he wanders around the bedroom in his boxers, then that’s their business.

He’s just glad he only packed jeans.

 

\---+---


	9. And Along Came Chester...

 

** Chapter Eight: **

 

If you were to ask Bucky what the greatest city in the world is, you know what he’d say?

Brooklyn.

If you were to ask him what the worst part of coming home to Brooklyn is, you know what he’d say?

Leaving.

Yet here he is, elbow-deep in an unruly clump of shirts and pants as he does his best to stuff them back into his suitcase. (Steve had mercifully done it for him before, since apparently it isn’t proper packing technique to shove everything together and hope for the best. _You have to actually fold stuff, Buck_. Pfff.)

“Hey Buck?” Steve calls in from the other room-- and speak of the little devil. “Do you know where your mother keeps the paper towels? Chester just peed on the floor.”

Augh. Oh, right. _Chester_.

Bucky sighs, nearly collapsing into his pile of bunched up clothing as the previous night’s memories come flooding back… The nice stroll through the park that was _supposed_ to be romantic as hell, and actually was, until Steve stopped in his tracks.

Bucky hadn’t even realized he was talking to himself until he wasn’t getting a response, only to turn and see Steve crouched towards the ground, a small puff-ball of a kitten smoothing itself through his hands.

And _God_...why Bucky ever thought he was going to be able to convince Steve to leave it the fuck alone is beyond him. Because then, before he knew what was happening, Steve was carrying the fucking thing and bringing it home and letting it curl up in their goddamn bed, like he hadn’t just found it roaming the streets hours before.

And now, the next morning, it’s pissing all over his mama’s good floors. Fucking perfect.

“Under the sink,” Bucky grumbles, unsuccessfully attempting to wrestle a shirt into being folded.  

Steve shouts his thanks from the other room, probably shuffling into the kitchen in the process.

Bucky is left to manhandle his clothing for a few minutes more before he hears the floorboards creak behind him and the distinctly soft mewling of none other than--

“How the hell are we gonna get that thing back to Pikesville?” Because seriously, that’s going to be a fucking _process_.

But Steve just shrugs, stepping closer and holding the tiny kitten out for Bucky to hold...like he’s somehow under the impression that Bucky’s super fired up about accepting another mouth to feed into their weird little family.

He does have to admit though, Steve holding a kitten is slowly becoming a close third favorite, after the bunnies and butterflies, that is.

“Don’t give that to me,” Bucky huffs anyway, because he has to keep up appearances and all.

But Steve just gives him a knowing look. “C’mon, Buck, don’t be a dick.” And then the kitten is mewling like Steve’s somehow already gotten the thing on his side, wriggling in Steve’s hold and sticking its pointy death claws into the skin around Steve’s wrists. And like _hell_ is he holding that.

“You realize we’re stuck with this thing until it’s old, right?” Because how long do cats live anyway...ten years? Bucky has no idea, but any amount of time is too long if it means having another member of the animal kingdom on Steve’s side.

“Yup, we’ll both be in our late thirties, maybe even forties by the time he passes away.” Steve shrugs his shoulders like this is no big deal. “We’re in it for the long haul.”

“Oh Jesus Christ…” He should have been more adamant about not taking it home last night.

“Bucky!” Steve gasps, making a scandalized face and putting the hand not currently getting kitten-shredded over Chester’s ears. “Not in front of the baby.”

Christ, if _that’s_ a sentence Bucky’s never been prepared to hear…

“ _Your_ baby,” he corrects.

Steve levels him with a judgmental look. “Oh, really? So I have a child and suddenly we’re estranged? I see how it is.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, returning to his suitcase that’s still spilling over quite impressively. He doesn’t even trust himself to comment on that - figures it’s best if he just lets that one go.

“Packing’s hard…” he says instead, maybe playing up the pout a little. It _is_ true, though...packing is a fucking nightmare.

Sighing, Steve crouches to the ground and sets the kitten gently on the floor, letting it weave around his feet as he makes his way over to Bucky and wraps slender arms around his waist. “I know. I’ll help you in a minute, okay?” He presses his cheek into Bucky’s back, right between his shoulder blades, then nudges Chester away from Bucky’s calves with a foot. “You’re not really mad at me, are you? You’re just being you?”

If it was anyone but Steve asking that, Bucky would be insulted. He knows he’s a dick - he doesn’t need someone else pointing it out. But, it _is_ Steve, so he lets that one go too, figures Steve will understand that his mood is just the result of their trip ending. “Don’t really wanna leave...”

And Steve gets it, because he just presses a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck and murmurs, “I know, but we’ll be ba--”

“Oh!”

Bucky jumps a little, caught off guard by the way his mother’s voice cuts through their calm conversation. Now’s not really the best time, but he knows she’s blissfully unaware of that. “Hey, Mama.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, looking a little flustered as she stands in the doorway. “Your door was open so I just assumed…” She trails off then starts again, “I should’ve knocked.

Or...maybe she’s more aware of it than he realizes.

“S’fine,” he says, straightening now and doing his best to casually use his body to hide the fucking disaster of a suitcase that he’s put together. He already gets shit from Steve about it, he doesn’t need her breathing down his neck too. “What’s up?”

“Well,” she begins, taking another step into the room and pulling a bag out from behind her back. “I actually had something I wanted to give you boys. It should only take a minute, then you can get back to-” She coughs delicately. “Get back to packing.”

Bucky blinks at her, too intrigued by the contents of the bag to really be embarrassed by her comment. He’s sure Steve’s got that covered, anyway. “You don’t have to give us anything…” But damn, does he want to know what it is.

Steve has picked up Chester, probably so it doesn’t attack their ankles like the fucking demon it is, and the cat stays relegated to Steve’s shoulder while Steve himself steps up to Bucky’s side.

“It’s nothing too special,” she smiles, just as Bucky reaches in and pulls out the little book inside.

BROOKLYN is scrawled out in looping gold letters at the top, and Bucky likes it already. Then his eyes catch on the picture that’s been taped into the little window on the cover and he smiles. Because it’s a picture of him and Steve, snapped right as they were walking into the apartment for the first time. It’s timed perfectly too, because Steve doesn’t have that look of pure terror stretched across his face yet. It’s definitely pre- _holy shit I’m going to kill you_.

“It’s a picturebook,” his mom explains as Bucky opens to the first page, eyes scanning over all of the empty slots. “I figured you could keep a little scrapbook of every time you two come here - put your pictures from your adventures and all that.”

Bucky swallows the lump that’s threatening to form in his throat. He’s got to keep his cool. “Thanks, Mama. You really didn’t have to…”

Steve presses in closer, watching from the side as Bucky skims through the empty pages. “This is...This is great, Mrs. Barnes.” He looks up at her with a grateful smile that Bucky is pretty positive isn’t just for the book. “Thank you so much.”

She smiles, warm and motherly like always, and then reaches out to gently rub Chester’s head. “Well now you boys just have to come and visit more often.”

Bucky’s heart leaps at the thought, eyes automatically glancing down to Steve for some sort of confirmation. Because, as stupid as it may sound, Bucky’s sure coming back to Brooklyn without Steve just wouldn’t cut it.

“I guess we will.” And Steve is looking right at Bucky as he says it, face full of promise as he mirrors Bucky’s smile. That’s all Bucky needs to hear, even if the prospect of actually coming back to Brooklyn is still a little hard to wrap his mind around - especially after convincing himself that he’d be living in Pikesville forever.

“And you boys can keep it on the coffee table at your place,” his mom continues to say, “Let everyone who comes to visit see what Brooklyn’s all about.”

That pulls Bucky right out of his thoughts and back into reality.

_Your place._ He groans at the sentiment. “Augh, Mom…” Because she can’t just go around telling people that he and Steve are all domestic and shit when actually they’re clearly--...okay, maybe they are. A little.

“Oh, I thought you two were living together,” his mother muses, knowing _exactly_ what she’s doing. “Steve’s always picking up your phone when I call. Sometimes I wonder if he’s more interested in talking to me than you are, dear.”

Great, _another_ person on Steve’s side. Will the nightmare never end?

“He gets to my phone before I do,” Bucky bullshits.

Steve snorts, calling him out on it. “Yeah, because you never bother to get up off the couch when it rings.”

Little shit...he’s going to pay for that.

“Mhm,” his mother grins, turning to walk out the door. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your domestic quarrels.”

_Domestic quarrels_ , Jesus Christ…

Bucky watches her leave before returning to his suitcase, noting that Steve has placed Chester onto the bed and is now thumbing through the picturebook again.

“Think we might need to pack that in _your_ bag, pal,” Bucky mumbles. “Don’t think there’s much room in mine.” He demonstrates this by giving his suitcase a halfhearted nudge.

Steve smirks up at him then sets the book aside, coming around to push Bucky out of the way (or at least he tries to, Bucky kind of just shuffles to the side to create the illusion), and getting to work on fixing the giant mess Bucky’s created.

“Honestly, Buck.” Steve laughs. “I think a toddler could do better. Don’t even know how you managed to get it this bad.”

“Because you weren’t watching me.” Which is true. Technically it’s Steve’s fault for not intervening sooner.

“Yeah, well, I was watching Chester. But now _you_ can watch him while I finish packing.” He’s obviously decided Bucky’s work is unsalvageable because he dumps it all out on the bed to start anew, prompting Chester to jump into the mess of fabric like Steve put it there just for him.

And no, that’s okay, it’s not like those are his fucking _clothes_ or anything. Bucky promptly picks the furball up, pulling it away from one of his favorite shirts before it can piss all over it. “Flight leaves in twenty minutes, by the way.”

And oh, that look of immediate panic/anger/ _you’re a dumbass_ that flashes across Steve’s face is priceless.

“I’m kidding.” Bucky says, before Steve causes any actual bodily harm. “Just wanted to see your face.”

Come to figure out, he’s actually a lot closer with the time than both of them realize. (His mother calls from the living room, wondering why they haven’t left yet.) And then that _I’m_ _gonna kill you_ look is right smack dab on Steve’s face again as they sprint out the doorway, but not before Bucky can give his mother a kiss and a “Thanks for everything!” and most importantly, “Love you, Mama!”

Eventually, after their initial freak out and mad scramble to try to get Chester through airport security, the Brooklyn air is exchanged with the fresh scent of the countryside, and all their bags are dropped in the doorway with a clatter.

Bucky elects not to unpack, and probably won’t for a good half a week. Steve, however, is on that shit as soon as possible - something Bucky supposes he admires about him.

But later that evening, after Steve is satisfied with the state of their suitcases and the state of the house, they’re both set up at the little desk in the kitchen, Bucky’s phone plugged into the computer and printing out all the different photos from their trip.

There’s one that Bucky snuck of Steve playing with his little nephew Johnny, and another of he and Steve posing in front of the farm museum that a stranger had taken. Bucky prints out a few of the ones from the butterfly exhibit, one for the book and the rest for his own personal reasons that Steve eyes him warily for but ultimately leaves alone (he’ll say something later, when they end up framed all over the house). Next comes a few of the photos they’d taken together at Coney Island. They put the one of Steve pecking his cheek in the book, keep the one of Bucky kissing him afterwards for the bedside table. And the last photo is kind of blurry, the lighting all wrong, but they both agree it’s too important to leave out. Because it’s the very edge of Steve’s profile with the night skyline of Brooklyn filling up the rest of the space, a picture Bucky had taken just before their whispered conversation.

And as Steve slips the final picture into its slot and goes to shut the little book, standing up as he does so, an unfamiliar photo flutters to the ground.

Bucky’s the one to stoop down and get it, plucking it from the tile and flipping it over to see what’s on the other side.

It’s them, curled together under the covers as afternoon sunshine spills in through the windows, something his mother must’ve taken the morning after their trip to Coney Island. Steve’s head is tucked under Bucky’s chin and his face mostly obscured but one of his hands is clearly visible atop the covers, clutching at the fabric behind Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky himself wrapped around Steve in a protective embrace,

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asks, trying to crane around Bucky’s arm to see. And Bucky flips the picture around to show him, hands it over so he can get a good look. He watches as Steve’s face goes from confusion, to realization, to something so indescribably soft Bucky can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders and resting his chin on the top of his head.

“It’s a good picture,” he murmurs.

“Yeah…” Steve quietly agrees. “I’ll have to call your mother and say thank you.”

Bucky smiles fondly, giving the photograph one more look. And then another. “We’re cute,” he says softly. Then he takes the picture from Steve’s fingers and places it up on the highest ledge of the desk, where it’ll always be visible, before returning to wrap his arms around Steve. “Love you.”

And Steve smiles, whispers it back, then starts leading them both back towards their room. “C’mon, Buck.” He says, “I’ll call your mother later.”

Bucky follows him wordlessly, lets himself be led past where Chester is safely tucked away in the laundry room, past where their suitcases are lined up neatly in the closet, and finally down the hall to their bed. He falls easily onto the covers, watches as Steve shuts and locks the door, then opens his arms, a gentle smile on his face as he waits for Steve to walk into them, holding him close once he does. “I love you,” he says again. Just because he can. And because he loves the way it makes Steve smile.

Loves the way Steve pulls back and looks into his eyes and says, “I love you too, Buck, more than Pikesville and Brooklyn combined.”

And doesn’t that just say it all?

 

\--+---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, hope you enjoyed this second installment!!!
> 
> come say hi on tumblr, we love making new friends^^ [itsmylifekay](itsmylifekay.tumblr.com) * [whatthebodygraspsnot](whatthebodygraspsnot.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, this series if far from over, a few one shots are already waiting in the wings. so keep a look out! and if y'all have any ideas/requests we'd be happy to hear them! (tho no guarantees)


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